#oh to live in a parisian apartment

[leclercss]

Paris, je t'aime (Charles Leclerc), Part 2

Masterlist

plot: it's almost three years since your tumultuous relationships with Lewis and Charles came crashing down. but you find your self in a new city with new beginnings and new ways to fuck up your love life. that's no thanks to a cheeky frenchman who's set you up on a double date with someone oh so familiar.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating, violence and some swearing

authors note: part deux, enjoy. sorry this took so much longer than anticipated to write. also, excuse the darker tone to this chapter, it'll get lighter from here xx

word count: 5.2k

taglist: @toppersjeep @janeholt3, @princess-siba, @nichmeddar, @tremendousandsonorouswords, @cmleitora, @victoriaholland, @amalialeclerc, @queensofshinigamis, @tempo-rary-fix, @starmanv, @happylittlereader, @trouble-sistar, @lightdragonrayne, @persephonemv1, @dreamingofautopia

If you couldn't read Charles' expression before, you most certainly couldn't now. For the first time this evening, it was Charles who was stumbling over his words.

"Wha... Wait... what?" was all he could muster up.

There weren't many times when you had been with Charles where he struggled to find his words. Even if he was angry, like the last time you saw him all those years ago, he still managed to say something. But tonight, he couldn't. He was speechless.

To relieve him from his pain, you repeated what you had said a few moments before. You too were struggling to string a few words together.

"Charles, I never went to New York".

Even by repeating yourself, Charles still couldn't find the words and it looks like the wheels inside of his head are trying to turn and make some sort of sense but everything is just breaking down and failing to work cohesively. And so, rather than having to respond, he looks out of the window of the taxi, taking in the Parisian sunset. His hand is no longer on your thigh but is now clawing at his facial hair.

The rest of the taxi ride is quiet, aside from the taxi driver's radio playing lowly in the background. But at one point you think you hear Charles whisper to himself, "Je ne comprends pas".

I don't understand.

The sound of Charles' keys rattling breaks the silence between you and Charles as he leads you upstairs to his apartment. He still hasn't said anything since the taxi, aside from thanking the driver. You haven't made much of an effort yourself to fill the silence because in all honesty, you're not really sure what to say or what Charles' reaction would be to whatever you did have to say. He was clearly stunned at your revelation that you in fact never went to New York and you were stunned yourself - by his question, his reaction, hell, this entire date. None of this made sense.

In the space of an hour, you went from being clueless about your blind date, to finding out that out of the +3 billion men in the world you just happened to be set up with your ex and to now, with Charles asking you to come to his apartment. Your mind was working overtime to catch up. Those two Aperol Spritz' were clearly not enough to numb whatever your brain was trying to process right now. You clearly needed something stronger.

You tried not to laugh but you couldn't help think about the fact that as much as Pierre poked fun at you for your messy love life, even this situation that you now found yourself in would even be too much for him to process.

The two of you quietly make your way into Charles’ apartment before staggering off. He muttered something about getting you a drink and so you take the opportunity to take in his apartment. Your heels are the only thing that is making a sound as you slowly walk around his living room. It’s a lot more sophisticated than his apartment in London that he shared with Joris and Riccardo. Gone are the Ferrari prints and in their place are pictures of modern art, strategically framed across the walls. It feels too classy to be a bachelor pad, if that was what Charles used it as. Your mind briefly lingers back to Pierre's comment about Charles needing to fuck a lot of girls to get over you.

With Charles still in the kitchen, you slowly make your way over to the large bay window and admire the Parisian streets outside as the sun slowly begins to set across the city. You let out a little sigh. It feels like no matter where you call home these days, chaos seems to follow you. Well, everywhere apart from Singapore, life felt so easy there. No expectation, the only pressure being your job. Was it too late to go back?

Your attention is finally pulled back to reality as Charles hands you a glass of white wine.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the glass from his hand. You can’t miss that his own glass of wine is practically shorty. Charles’ notices this and dryly chuckles.

“I drank it on the way, let me get some more”.

He’s flustered, his cheeks turning slightly pink out of embarrassment. He doesn’t make eye contact with you at all before he turns away and heads back to the kitchen. You can’t help but find it a little funny how you’re now the composed one, especially in comparison to Charles’ entrance during your date.

As Charles re-enters the living room, you take a seat on the edge of his sofa, you’re not too comfortable yet for you to treat it like a welcomed or returning guest. Charles follows suit, taking a seat on the arm chair across from you.

It’s still quiet between you both, neither of you know how to start this conversation. Whatever game plan Charles had previously has now gone straight out of the window while you never had an opportunity to even create a game plan, you were just thrown into the deep end without any arm bands.

You watch as Charles’ slowly runs his index finger along the rim of his wine glass while he stares at his own movements. Deciding to break the silence, because any conversation is better than this, you begin with some small talk to ease yourself into the conversation.

“Your apartment looks great,” you say politely as you look around the room once more.

“Thanks,” Charles mutters, his eyes still fixated on his wine glass.

“Did you decorate it yourself?”

Charles shakes his head.

You let out a little laugh. “Interior design was never your strong suit,” you joke, hoping to lighten the mood but it doesn’t anything but.

“A friend did it,” his words almost come out like a grunt.

Silence falls onto the room once more.

Something chaotic begins to brew inside of you. You know you’ve got nothing to lose, and out a stupid sense of curiosity, you carelessly throw out your next question, “Was it a girl that did it for you?”

Charles instantly tenses up at your question and you know you're playing with fire. You notice his jaw twitch in irritation. His shoulders now hunching forward and his hand is how clenched around his wine glass. And by the tension in his fingers, you’re amazed that it hasn’t cracked from the pressure.

He’s debating whether to say something or not. And he does, but not before taking a large gulp of his wine.

“Why don’t we just skip the small talk and get straight to fucking shall we?”

And as he says it, he’s finally looking into your eyes. The pendulum swings once more and it's your turn to be nervous again.

“Excuse me?”

He lets out a little chuckle but from the expression in his eyes he’s not joking around.

“Listen, [Y/N], I didn’t invite you back to my apartment so we could exchange interior design tips. So, let’s just skip to what we’re good at which is sex,” he continues with a condescending tone. “We can either do it on my sofa if you like, or by the big window so you can take in the Parisian skyline as I fuck you from behind. But my bed also works, your choice”.

You can’t help but scoff, “And that works for all the other girls you’ve taken here, right?”

You want to slap the smirk that Charles’ is giving you right off his face.

“No,” he responds sarcastically. “I let them finish their glass of wine, or two, maybe even play them a song on my piano before I ask them to take their clothes off”.

Oh, so I'm not even worthy of even getting through my wine? you think to yourself.

It's your turn to laugh but you know it’s hiding what you really feel. You’re confused but most importantly, you’re disappointed in the way that Charles is speaking to you. He had never spoken to you like this before.

“And what makes you think I’d want to fuck you anyway?” you retort, hoping that you sound assure in what you're saying, but you're not, your voice trembles. And Charles doesn't miss it.

And my God, he looks so arrogant as he looks you up and down. He’s so obvious with his gaze as his eyes become fixated on your boobs before making their way down to your thighs, which are now more exposed than before thanks to your dress riding up from sitting on the sofa.

“You’re wearing that dress aren’t you?” the smugness practically oozes from his tongue.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Well, if I’d of known that you were going to be my date then I definitely wouldn’t have wasted this dress on you”.

Charles throws his head back as his smile grows even bigger.

“It's such a shame that you’ve lost your sense of humour since I last saw you, amour”.

You scoff once more. His use of amour is no longer a term of endearment but a way to mock you. But you can't let him know that he's winning, so you somewhat fight back, "At least I’ve managed to grow up in the last three years. Unlike some”.

“And yet you’re still here”.

Your eyes meet his and you gulp. His piercing green eyes are glistening as he enjoys seeing you squirm. He’s been waiting for so long to see you again and he’s not going to let you forget how you made him feel. And he doesn’t care that he’s coming across as a dick when he’s doing so. You broke his heart, and he’s willing to be petty about it.

Despite your disgust in how he’s speaking to you since you arrived to his apartment, you know he’s right. Why are you still here? What sort of resolution are you going to get from this? And you remember how naive you were earlier to think that Charles had moved on when he was being nice to you. Oh how wrong you were.

“Well, now that we’ve established that you’re staying-“

“Who said I was staying?” you growl.

“Well, as I said before, you’re wearing that dress and I think it’s pretty obvious that you planned on getting fucked tonight, so I’m happy to cut to get to it,” Charles continues nonchalantly, “Pierre, as well intentioned as he is, did drop the bomb that you’ve been having a bit of a dry patch when it comes to your love life so I can’t blame you for getting your hopes up”.

You’re growing more irritated by his sarcasm and attitude by the second. Your jaw can’t help but twitch as he drops the truth bomb on your pathetic love life. And so you retaliate, unknowingly falling right into his trap.

“And Pierre was ever-so-kind to let me know that you’ve been so miserable and bitter that you’ve had to fuck anyone with a pulse to get over me”.

You see a flash of anger fall onto Charles’ face but it’s gone as quick as it came. You wouldn't be sure it even happened if he didn't respond the way he does next.

“Better than whatever pathetic shit it is you’ve been doing,” Charles responds. "Random hook ups, pathetic tinder conversations. Are you scared of commitment or something?"

You say nothing but you're breathing heavily. You're the one who is now gripping onto their wine glass for dear life, holding onto whatever composure you have left.

"There was one thing that Pierre didn't tell me though. How did you and Lewis end things, amour?"

What a little...

Who the fuck does he think he is?

This conversation has taken a dark turn and it’s enough for you to want to get out of here. Something you should have done before. You slam your wine glass onto the coffee table, before standing up to make your way towards the front door.

You hear Charles get out of his seat, closely following behind before he grabs onto your arm.

“What’s wrong, amour?” his voice is sickeningly sweet as he taunts you once more, pulling you back towards him.

“I’m not going to sit here and let you talk to me like this,” you spit. But your voice cracks as you can feel ears form in your eyes. This whole evening has been humiliating and now Charles is hanging your desperate love life in front of you, like it's a toy that can be poked and prodded at for entertainment.

And if you thought that by leaving that Charles would retreat, you were completely wrong.

“Sorry, baby, thought you were into men who treated you like shit”.

Slap!

You're not sure who's more surprised by the slap you've just given Charles, you've both been stunned into silence. The hand that he had on your arm immediately removes itself from you, now finding itself pressed against Charles' cheek. He winces at his own touch, the flesh that was met with your slap is beginning to sizzle.

One of your tears spills over as you make eye contact with Charles, your expressions matching one another. Horror. It takes you a few moments to realise what you've done. Unwilling and unable to accept the consequences of your actions, you decide to bolt for the exit. But as soon as you open the front door, it's been slammed shut. Panicking, you turn around to see that Charles has followed you, his hand is above your head holding the door closed.

You're not sure why you feel scared, but you press your back against the door. You're pressing into it so hard that you hope that it creates some sort of portal to take you somewhere far, far away from here. Anywhere but here.

But your dreams are cut short because Charles is standing in front of you, still holding the door closed while the other hand caresses his cheek, marked with your handprint.

"No, you don't get to just run away from me again," he barks as he hovers over you.

"What?" you ask in confusion.

"You've done it to me once before and I won't let you do it again," he replies. His breathing his heavy, chest rising and falling dramatically as he looks into your eyes. "You've left me once before without an explanation. You're not doing that to me this time".

His tone is much more gentle this time. The last few moments have made him feel vulnerable. His find flashes back to the last time he saw you and how he watched you walk out of his front door, never to be seen again until three years later. Despite his bitterness towards your break up, he wasn't going to make that mistake again. No, it was time for some answers. Ones he had been waiting for for three long years.

He removes the hand that's above your head on the door and places it back down by his side. "Can you just stay, please? I think you owe me that much".

You nod.

"Okay," your voice barely a whisper. "I'll stay but at least let me get a cold towel for your face".

It's Charles turn to nod.

He makes his way back to the sofa while he waits for you to return with a cold, damp cloth. When you return, his eyes never leave you as he watches you sit down beside him. He watches you as you gently places the damp cloth against his cheek. He hisses out your touch.

"I'm sorry," you whisper as you begin to dab his face gently, this time your touch hurts less.

Apart from your very brief apology, the two of you say nothing for a while. Charles' eyes are still on you as you take care of him. He gulps as you take your other hand and brush away a strand of hair that's fallen onto his cheek. His mind goes rushing back to all of the times that you touched him before. But now it's in such different circumstances and you both feel like strangers to one another now. He wants to touch you again, to see if it still feels the same. If your skin is still as soft as before. It always used to be so warm and silky, it felt like satin beneath his touch. But he's too scared to try, after all you did just slap him a not so long ago, because of shitty words that he said to you.

"Charles," you say before pausing. You look at him briefly as he nods, waiting for you to carry on. He's looking at you with such puppy dog eyes that you can't help but feel guilty as you see that he still has some redness on his cheek. But you carry on. "I'm sorry for hitting you. I... I shouldn't have done that".

Charles chuckles a little, "It's okay, amour".

"No, no, it's not okay. I shouldn't hit anyone," you protest, this time holding the cloth against his cheek.

Charles smiles at you, "Honestly, it's okay. I deserve it, I was being nasty."

You let out a little sigh.

"I really am sorry," you say as you look into his eyes.

"I know, amour".

It's all the two of you say for a few more minutes before you finally remove the cloth from Charles' cheek. The redness has calmed down, but he still feels a sting from your touch.

As you place the cloth on the table, you reach for your glass of wine, realising that it's been untouched. You take a sip before handing the glass to Charles. He smiles before taking it from your hand and taking a sip himself.

As your wait to find something to say, you begin to pull at the hem of your short dress. How do you carry on the conversation from here? The last time you tried to speak it went from being petty to nasty and to, in your case, being violent. But Charles' demeanor is different this time, he seems a lot calmer and he doesn't want to make your life a living hell any more. He watches you fiddling with the hem of your dress and pulling at a loose string. He places his hand on top of yours to stop you from pulling at the material any more.

"Hey, don't do that. Your dress is beautiful, I wouldn't want you to ruin it," his tone is so gentle. So much so that you tears begin to form in your eyes again. You can't even look at Charles as your eyes remain fixated on your lap. You hadn't realised your tears had spilled over until landed on the bottom of your dress, leaving the smallest of damp spots.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry," Charles whispers as he wipes your tear with his thumb. But by him telling you not to cry doesn't mean that you stop. If anything, feeling his hand on your face only makes it worse. "Please don't cry, [Y/N]".

Charles cups your face in his hands as he lifts it up so you're looking at him. "Charles," you begin but your breath catches in your throat. The evening is beginning to overwhelm you and you can't seem to be digesting anything that's happening in a reasonable way.

"Tell me, amour," Charles says as he wipes your tears once more.

Amour.

Fuck, even the way he's saying it now is so confusing. It's so gentle and so kind and you don't deserve any of this.

"Did you mean it earlier? When you said you only invited me back to have sex?"

Charles sighs as he shakes his head.

"No! No, I was being an asshole, okay," he tells you. "I didn't mean it."

You nod but you're not sure if you believe him. You wouldn't blame him if he fucked you and then left you because in Charles' eyes, that's what you did to him three years ago.

"Hey, hey, look at me," his voice is more commanding this time that you can't help but look at him. He hesitates for a moment, before he leans in to kiss your forehead. "I didn't mean it, amour. I was just angry, that's all".

You nod but you still feel overwhelmed with his touch and so you lean back on the sofa to give yourself a little bit of a break. Charles follows suit.

Silence falls on the room once more but this time, the two of you taking turns drinking the wine from your glass, hoping that the two of you find the courage to address the elephant in the room.

This time, it's Charles who breaks the silence.

"You... you said in the taxi that you never went to New York," he begins. The volume in his voice is much lower this time.

You nod slowly.

"What happened? Why did you change your mind?"

He nervously awaits your answer and he doesn't miss the little sigh that you let out.

"Charles, I... I was never going to New York. It was never the plan. Lewis kept asking but I always said no," you tell him.

Charles' scrunches his forehead at your confession.

"But you told me-"

"No, that day when I came to see you. I planned on telling you that everything was over between Lewis and I but I don't know what happened. I just couldn't get the words out, after everything that happened it should have been easy but it wasn't. Because I'd never been able to say out loud that my marriage was over. And when I told you that Lewis asked me to join him in New York, I didn't tell you because that's what was happening. I told you because I was scared and confused. You talked about moving in together and I panicked. For the first time in seven years he wasn't going to be in my life and I just didn't have time to process it," you tell him, "And so when you asked me if I was going, I just froze. I... I don't why I did. But by the time I got over my panic you thought that I had basically confirmed that I was going with Lewis but I never was. I don't blame you for reacting the way you did, hell, I would have had the same thoughts. But he was never an option any more, Charles, it was always you".

Charles stays silent as he lets all of your words sync in. He had been so wrong this whole time and he spent so many days and months hating you. Was he so wiling to believe that you were leaving him to stay with Lewis because he couldn't believe that it would finally be true? He'd always heard that the spouse never leaves their martial partner when it comes to having an affair. But you and Charles never had an affair. You had a relationship, and one that Lewis knew all about. So why had he gotten it all so wrong?

"When you told me to leave, I... I took the cowards way out. I don't blame you for not believing me. We were both tired and I gave up. I'm sorry that I gave up, Charles," you say. It's your turn to wipe the tear from Charles' cheeks.

"No, I pushed you away," he says quietly.

You shake your head. "No, you didn't. You did nothing wrong," you tell him.

The two of you take a few minutes to process your confession to Charles. The tears have now dried up for the both of you but the weight of the conversation rests heavy on your hearts.

"If you didn't go to New York, where did you go?" Charles asks.

You let out a little sigh. "I went for a job opportunity in Singapore. And I took it, so I moved about three months after things ended between us".

Charle lets out a light-hearted chuckle. "Singapore, that must have been nice," he says, "How did you manage in the heat?"

"I didn't," you laugh, "I basically lived a nocturnal lifestyle. But it was nice, I enjoyed my time there. I think I grew up a lot while I was there".

You pause for a moment, your smile falls a little as you carry on. "I do think about what would have happened if I'd stayed in London though..." Your sentence trails off as you begin to think about the what ifs.

"Well you know, London. Always busy and always expensive," Charles jokes. You smile at him softly.

"Kind of like Paris, right?" you say and he nods in response.

He takes a moment before asking his next question, "Do you regret going?"

Uncertainty takes over momentarily before you reply, "I don't know. I wish I kind of did things differently".

"Me too," Charles mutters.

Your eyes meet each others and this time it feels different. It feels like you're both longing for one another. You're not sure who initiated the first move as you both lean in for a gentle kiss which soon escalates as Charles pulls you onto his lap while you reach out to cup his face. The kiss deepens quickly as the two of your run your hands over any body part you can find on the other.

Charles' hands going from your hair on the back of your head to your waist. At some point, they end up on your ass which is now exposed due to the movements you've been making on his lap. Your hands too find themselves in his hair before making their way over his shoulders and down his clothed chest but you don't miss the tight muscles that sits below the thin material.

You hum as Charles' lips make their way to below your ear before making their way down your neck and finally to your chest.

"I wasn't joking when I mentioned this dress earlier," he says as he stares up at you, his eyes are full of hunger, "it was meant to taken off".

You can't help but squeal as he dramatically pulls your straps down to reveal your chest and it doesn't take long for him to wrap his mouth around one of your nipples. You moan as he begins to suck on the sensitive skin.

"Fuck," you let out as your hands grip onto his shoulders.

Tonight has been such a mind fuck that you feel dizzy at his touch. How the hell have you ended up in this situation where you've gone from slapping Charles for being an asshole to having him sucking on your tits. Maybe he was right and that you did like men that treated you like shit.

But that was baggage that you could unpack another day as you're suddenly brought back to your senses when you feel a flash of cold air on your vagina. You look down and see that Charles has pulled your panties to the side.

He looks up at you menacingly as his right hand makes its way down your body while the other holds your him in place. You can't help but yelp as his fingertips brush against your clit.

"Charles," you sigh in relief as he presses more pressure onto your sensitive bud.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't imagined this image over the last three years," Charles teases as he slides his fingers between your folds. "Mmmm," is all you can say.

"I still have those photos you know and some of the videos that we took," he continues as he left hand makes it's way back up to your breast, missing the feeling of full flesh beneath his fingers.

"Charles," you whisper once more as you grip onto his hair.

"All you have to do is tell me how you want," he says and you're falling into his touch when he suddenly pushes two of his fingers inside of you.

"Shit!"

Charles takes your profanity as a sign to continue but this only sends you into overdrive. No, it's that dizzy feeling again and you suddenly feel light-headed. His fingers are moving in and out of you but all you want to do is push yourself off his chest and you do.

"Stop," you cry as you lift yourself of Charles' body.

Charles is stunned at your sudden change and becomes flustered, trying to understand why you're no longer wanting him to touch you.

"Amour, what's wrong?"

You're panting as you recover from the sensation of Charles while you're also trying to gather your thoughts at the same time.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you eventually say. You don't miss the look of disappointment on Charles' face. "It's not that I don't want to, I just think that... that we've gone through so much tonight. We haven't really processed anything and I don't want us to regret this".

Charles nods. He'd do anything to have you right now but deep down he knows you're right. The events of tonight have been chaotic, petty and at times toxic. This was the first time the two of you had addressed what happened and even then it was only a short conversation. He's only just gotten you back into his life and despite what his mouth was running with earlier, Charles didn't want to lose you again.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Please don't be sorry. We both wanted it but it's not the best thing right now," you say. You want to break the tension in the air by cracking a joke, "If you want, we can both tell Pierre that we fucked to mess with his head".

Your joke works as Charles releases some tension by laughing before letting out a "Fucking Pierre".

At some point, you end up resting your head against Charles' chest as the two of you enjoy the silence for the first time this evening and for the final time, Charles interrupts a quiet moment between you two.

"Can you stay tonight? I... Nothing has to happen, I'd just like you to stay," he says quietly. You look up at him and nod.

The two of you eventually make your way to the bedroom and slowly undress each other as you get ready for bed, with Charles lending you one of his football jerseys.

And while he sleeps ever so soundly, his chest gently rising and falling as he lets out slow breaths, you find yourself not being able to sleep at all.

As the sun begins to rise on an early summer's morning in Paris, you find a pen and paper in Charles' kitchen before leaving him a note on his pillow:

' I promise I'm not running away this time, I just think that we both deserve the chance for a clear head in the morning.

I'm so grateful that I got the chance to see you again.

Amour xxx '

[actually-factually-anonymous]

Marinette is not poor.

Just posting something I wrote a little while ago:

I always have a little snicker whenever people call Marinette "poor". While the writers put her and her school in a fictional 21st arrondissement; the position of the Eiffel tower and general decor actually point to the girl living in what is very clearly (at least according to the few French speakers I've had the pleasure of talking to about this series with) the 16th arrondissement.

Aka: The Old Money district of Paris.

Her family are apparent minor celebrity bakers who cater to high class events and who get to own (that's important, the Dupain-Cheng's own the bakery, not rent it) and live in a building worth millions of euros in one of the most wealthy parts of Paris. A building and business they likely inherited from Roland at some point, and that family also contains a clearly rich Grandmother who can spend her golden years traveling and can casually buy her Granddaughter a new motorcycle for her birthday.

Her room alone would be unaffordable for any working class person, it's the size of a studio apartment. Add in the location and Balcony; and an actual Parisian commoner would probably need to divvy the space up between a dozen roommates just to make rent. Sure it looks tame compared to Adrien's gilded cage, but make a comparison to let's say... Alya's room (which we have seen and actually resembles a working-class teenager's living space) and suddenly she's looking pretty bougie.

Let's not forget that direct across the road from a school (based on the prestigious Lycee Carnot by the way) attended by the children of the rich and powerful to a degree that cannot be coincidental. But it's unsurprising that Marinette's mingling with the elite when she's already babysitting news-achors' children and has a host of personal connections with celebrities.

As for her hobbies, anyone that has ever taken up design or dressmaking, or really anything creative has to know that it's not cheap. And that stuff that Marinette makes? There's no way that she's covering that with the odd babysitting job unless Nadja is paying her with hundreds of euros per session (I don't know, maybe Manon's on a blacklist so Marinette can choose her price?).

Correct me if I'm wrong: but the closest thing to Marinette or her family having any kind of money problems in the show was the fact that they'd been saving up for Marinette to have a trip to China. Which implies that at least they can't go out to another country on a whim: but that's not exactly poor now is it?

If Marinette looks like some schlub from the Banlieues, it's only by comparison to her ultra-wealthy classmates. Her parents show no signs of financial struggle, and Marinette herself is rarely called to help out in the family business. She lives in a room bigger than some apartments. Her hobbies are ridiculously expensive, but the most she has to do to cover them is occasionally babysit for one of her celebrity connections.

Marinette's. Not. Poor.

She is upper-middle class at worst.

And as for hardship in the future? The girl has already had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity dropped in her lap via Audrey Bourgeoisie, another one through Jagged letting her design his glasses (talk about visibility for a young designer), gained recognition through Gabriel Agreste's competition and is the sole heir to her parents' and Gandmother's combined wealth. Unless she well and truly flubs every opportunity she has her fashion career is about as close to set as it can be, and even if it bombs: her familial wealth means that unless she goes on a spending spree she probably won't even have to work. She could literally just appoint a manager for her family bakery and live full time as Ladybug...

Oh, and she's also dating Adrien Agreste. Who was the sole heir to the Agreste Fortune, but now that his parents are gone: he's probably one of the richest minors in France. Worst come to worst, she has a sugar-kitty to keep her afloat.

Marinette is not poor. She was never poor. Barring multiple acts of absurd misfortune that destroy her family's wealth and home and her celebrity connections and her burgeoning professional reputation and her relationship with Adrien: she never will be poor.

Even then she'd still be Ladybug and The Guardian of the Mother Box. She could have a single euro to her name and would still have a home in the Guardian Temple- she's not exactly one missed payment away from being on the streets.

This idea that she's some working-class underdog is much like the romanticized trope of the "lonely hero struggling under her responsibilities" that Marinette often gets in fanworks: it's something that ignores her canonical privileges for the sake of drama and putting her on a pedestal for how she suffers under her duty. In reality, Marinette has a literal wealth of riches in terms of generational wealth and metaphorical riches with her massive support group formed from her family and many friends (many of whom are ultra wealthy themselves).

Marinette is not poor.

[femininenachos]

So i gotta ask, is the pic of lexa on the streets eating a pap shot or a staged photo shoot? 😂 what’s lexa’s favorite Parisian activity that doesn’t involve Clarke? (Model AU)

Oh, it’s definitely staged - not a single crumb of pastry passed her lips!

When Lexa is travelling solo to Paris she looks up her former roommates - in the early days she shared an apartment with other girls on the agency’s roster. A couple still live in the city, so they visit their old haunts and catch up on all the gossip. Lexa doesn’t have many friends and confidantes (she has a reputation for being standoffish and cultivating a certain chilly, aristocratic hauteur, but mostly others are too intimidated by all that attitude and constant serving to approach her) but these girls knew Lexa when she just starting out, an awkward fawn desperate to be seen as chic and sophisticated. So there’s a bond, a sisterhood almost, and when their schedules align Lexa’s there in a heartbeat.

If Anya’s in town too, a wild night will be had, and Clarke is the beneficiary of the snaps. Lexa’s smile gets a little wider and freer in each one, her eyes unfocused but still so very magnetic, and not a hair out of place as the champagne flows. Let’s just say that by the time Clarke leaves the studio late and arrives home to Frank nipping at her heels for his dinner, the pics Lexa sends tend to edge into raunchier territory, and whatever plans Clarke had for the evening are quickly derailed.

[lecl3rcw]

𝒜𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 | Prologue

Authors note: Hi guys! This is a mini series and my first one at that so I’m a lil scared😀 but I really hope you like this story because I’ve been planning it out for a while now😭 but yes this story will contain angst, and like a lot of fluff:) but yeah I hope everyone will like it💕

This is a prologue!!! A lil chapter on the sister’s dynamic and the exposition!!

____________________________________________

The Parisian sky roared as gentle raindrops started to fall against her apartment window. The girl was in her painting studio, where she spends most of her time anyways. Her headphones blasting her favorite song as her shaky hand outlined the last of her painting. As she was about to finish, the ringing of the bell startled her, she groaned as she took her headphones off and went to open the door. When she did tho, she was met with her two older sisters, one carrying the bags of groceries and the other carrying a toddler.

“Oh sorry guys, how long were you out here” she says feeling a little bad. “Don’t worry Y/N, not for long” Her oldest sister Adriana says placing the toddler on the ground as she gives her sister a soft smile, to which she reciprocates.

“What were you doing anyway?” Her middle sister, Julianna asks, “I was just finishing up the last of my painting before my flight tomorrow” she says as she bends down to the toddler’s level, squeezing her in a tight hug as her heart warms at the giggle her niece lets out.

“How are you feeling? I mean leaving so abruptly” Adriana asks putting last of the groceries away, “I feel good, I just need a change of scenery, I don’t think I can live here after everything that has happened��� Y/N replies, standing up and going back into her studio. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two older siblings.

“Julie, I’m really worried about her, she’s not processing anything correctly, she’s refusing to go the therapist, and now she’s moving to a whole new country, where she knows no one, I really don’t think we should let her go” Adriana mumbles anxiously.

“Ada listen, I don’t want her to go either but she’s not a baby anymore, she’s 19 and she’s very responsible, and it’s not like she’s going on vacation, she’s going to study and holding her back from her passion isn’t helping, plus i can go visit her when the Spanish grandprix happens, we have to trust her, she wants to move on with the whole situation with mom and we have to respect that” Julie says rubbing her sister’s shoulder.

The three girls had lost their father at a pretty young age, however the loss of their mother was still very recent. Almost like the ghost of her still haunts them three, everything about her, they miss it all. They stood there silently, uneasy and clenching their heavy hearts.

Once Y/N finished her painting, a genuine smile came across her face. Painting was a passion that she picked up from her mother, that’s how Y/N wanted to keep her memory alive.

y/n.hirose

liked by julie_hirose, adriann.a, alexandrasaintmleux and 48,000 others

y/n.hirose a recent painting dump 🫶🏻

Comments

julie_hirose Si talentueux💕 (so talented)

^y/n.hirose 😚💕

elainejohansen ugh my best friend is too perfect😔

^y/n.hirose I miss you Lainey🥲💕

alexandrasaintmleux je l'aime tellement😍 (i love it so much)

^y/n.hirose merci mon amour😘 (Thankyou my love)

julieslefttoe her hiatus has ended y’all🤭

charlessssluvrrrr her and Alexandra interacting is genuinely my favorite thing ever🥰

y/nhiroseswardrobe Y/N please post more pics with your incredible outfits🥹

adrianstoofine she’s such a W

Scrolling through her Instagram comments made her feel a litttle happy, with Julianna being so famous, it wasn’t odd to see all her fans being so nice to her. Her peace got interrupted by Julie calling her name.

“You called my name?” Y/N says stepping out of the room, “Well, since you’re leaving, we’d thought that maybe we could make something together and just watch a movie” Adriana speaks, a smile adorning her face, “Princess and the Pauper!!” Adriana’s toddler, Suzette speaks up excitedly clapping her hands, “Well if Suzu wants to watch Barbie, then Barbie it is” Julianna says lifting the little girl up causing her to let out a squeal.

adriann.a posted a story

seen by charles_leclerc, y.n.hirose, julie_hirose , and 70,000 others

The rest of the night was spent well, jokes were traded, all the food Y/N had made was conquered. Adriana had gone to sleep as Suzu had started to get cranky, leaving just Julie and Y/N. As the two girls were tyding up, Julie said what had been on her mind.

“Y/N listen, I just wanted to say that I’m so proud of the person that you have become you’re so grown and independent and I could never be more proud to call you my younger sister. I just want to say that no matter where you are in the world, me or Adriana? I’m only one call away and don’t be afraid because this is a big step in your life and we’re here to support you through it no matter how much it hurts us and I know that it’s gonna be hard but mom would’ve been so proud of you. We all are.” Julie says cleaning the kitchen counter.

“Julie!? Did my food poisoning you? because why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden” Y/N says dramatically checking Julie’s temperatire warning her a shove. “ this is the last time I’m being supportive of you that one time I decide to be nice and you take advantage of that, so is the last time so live in the moment” she says rolling her eyes, “Thankyou Julie, I love you” Y/N says hugging the taller girl tightly, “I love you too sis, now you have a flight at the crack of dawn tomorrow, so don’t worry about cleaning I got it, just go get some sleep alright?” Julie says pushing Y/N into her room, “Goodnight Julie” she mutters, earning her response.

Once she was done with her skincare, she slipped on her silk pajama as she laid in bed overthinking her decision, is this the right decision, am I doing the right thing, what is this is a mistake?

She groans into her pillow as sleep overtakes her body, with many things she wasn’t sure about, there was one thing she was sure about and that was “Madrid, here I come” she says before sleep finally overtakes her body.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep2 Musings

I absolutely adore the title cards; the "fangs" reflecting main locations of the episodes/seasons. GOD this show's attention to detail.

We open with Lou & Claud in Paris bickering about French & money; already shown in the Pix11 preview (I gave my opinions on the full scene, and another post about Claudia specifically.

Then we get Dubai. O_O Omfg. I made a separate post all about Louis & Loumand, cuz those queens were DIABOLICAL this episode.

Skipping ahead a bit! To the coven/theatre! ^0^

Ohhhh....that's a Children of Satan/Darkness nod! 👀 Only thing's that the old guard from the CoS/D actually weren't part of the Coven/Theatre anymore by the time Louis & Claudia arrived (Alessandra, Eleni, and the rest of Rhoshamandes' fledglings Santino indoctrinated & had train Armand).

So Armand is REALLY showing off, tryna impress Louis; cuz none of the members of THAT Theatre troupe are older than Armand, and not even he's as old as Charlemagne. Armand, your yaoi is showing. XD

It's wild how on one hand we have the coven simping over how pretty Louis is (except Santiago, cuz ofc 🙄); while just HATING on Claudia.

Naw, let her stay! Estelle is THIRSTY and I love her for it, bless! XD

Santiago, you shady wench, you're already on my hit list, BUFFOON; but THIS striped heifer, Celeste--

Wench, are all Parisian vampiresses frumpy busted haters like YOU?

Anyways. 🙄 I hate this effing coven already. 😒

Foreshadowing AF, Mr. I Could Not Prevent It.

Sure, Jan. 🙄 But not all violence/abuse/trauma is physical/sexual. By allowing the Theatre to put their hands on Claudia, Armand harmed Louis more than anyone ever could. Claudia was the glue keeping Louis together when he was already falling apart, and he hasn't been right ever since. BOTH of these dudes are living in a fantasy, frikkin la-la-land, as they think they're HELPING e/o, going thru all these theatrical acts & performances. But are they REALLY happy? Esp. cuz we know who's endgame for them in the books. It's bittersweet, cuz their affection's REAL. But this weird codependency just isn't healthy or right. U_U

Eff you, Daniel Hart. tryna make me cry!

Eff you, Daniel Hart, tryna make me laugh!

This scene with the naked lady (Annika) was SO GOOD! I'm glad they tastefully didn't fully show her whole body like they did in the film--if we can't see full frontal nudity for the dudes, then I don't wanna see it on the gals either. 😤 Fair's fair!

But WOAH, the sexckshuhality~!

👻💀⚰️

I don't even have words for this! 😅 Claudia! Let the man win ONCE!?

But I LOVE how candid this show is about everything from sexuality to race--and ofc discrimination.

Oh they're cooking. O_O

THEY ACTUALLY SPOKE ON THE FACT THAT ARMAND'S A BROWN ASIAN DARKER SKINNED THAN REDBONE LDPDL, I'M SHOOK--COLOR CONSCIOUS AWARD GOES TO~~~!

Armand gets to lead the coven through meritocracy, not racial privilege. HOWEVER, we've got bleach-blonde Santiago still waiting in the wings, so.... I can't wait to see more of their dynamics.

We been knew, Louis, it's ok. U_U

Armand clearly been knew, too! Like: Yeah, I'm not surprised he's cruising all the gay parks--I could tell by the way that American walked! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I KNOW this bish ain't talking, not Mr. Polynesian Marys! Not Mr. I Did What I Had To Do To SCORE. Not Mr. We Met In A GAY Bar. Not Mr. Black Tar And Heroin! Not Mr. Is Alicia Even REAL!? I KNOW he's not tryna shade Louis for cruising, when his closeted arse can't even handle being in a room with Armand making come-hither eyes!

I love Daniel, how he's written & acted, but ISTG I hate his character.

As opposed to Santiago, who is just--BRUH. WERK.

And this is exactly what Lestat was getting at, too. And why Akasha was wrong when she said men are the problem. Like, don't get me wrong, THEY ARE, but chile, ALL HUMANS are the problem; eff gender. Homegirl sold that old dude down the frikkin river, just to save her own skin, and her family's. COMPLICIT. OFFAL.

Santiago's disgusted by humanity, and Annika proved his point.

As for Lestat, his cold willful detachment stems from his attitude that humans are just The Meat. This version of Lestat is SO dang jaded, that humans are reduced to mere food--just like he called Miss Lily.

He doesn't need the Evil Doer creed, if he thinks ALL humans are evil/irredeemable; only worth living if they can sing & make music or something artistic. Otherwise who cares? (Which makes it VERY interesting to see what AMC!Les would say to Memnoch the Devil....)

Speaking of....

I frikkin knew it. ISTG Lestat must be asleep in 2022--if y'all have him do a Merrick and wake up in the finale, I will pass out and DIE.

The question is: WHAT put him to sleep? Is he just sad & grieving post-trial? WTF is Raglan James doing in 2022? Are we post-Memnoch? Where are TWMBK? I NEED ANSWERS, AMC! 😭

[undeuxs]

wolfstar (remus x sirius), long au with suggestive themes

thinking about parisian!sirius, who moved out from london with his family when he was barely 12, and now being 21 his beloved childhood friends, james, peter and remus, are visiting him for the first time in paris.

sirius gets so excited about them coming over that he starts annotating which pubs are worth it and which aren't. he gets more and more nervous when their reunion is approaching that he finds himself trying to guess which places in the city will the boys like better.

"james would love to hang out anywhere, only because we will be together... but maybe he would like it even more with a pint or two."

"peter... that boy would follow us everywhere. even if we plot a murder, he'd choose to be there with us."

and then there is remus. remus.

most of the time sirius has to stop and truly think to himself, "what will remus like?"

truth be told, he has not seen them in such a long time, sirius sometimes has this thought that they may feel like foreigners to him now. he knows what they look like. he knows how their voices sound through the phone. he knows that james has a big crush on this red haired girl from university. he knows peter trains every morning with james against his own will.

but what does he knows about remus that remus dares to admit to him outloud? being realistic, not too much.

so sirius keeps repeating the same question, like a mantra in his head, "what will remus like?"

"the louvre, probably, he likes art. but no... that is too cliché for him..."

"headquarters of the communist party? it's nice and it has history. oh, but he will think i want to come off as some know-it-all..."

luckily when they arrive sirius doesn't have to worry about such questions anymore. between what james and remus planned beforehand, their excruciatingly long to-do list covered almost everything you could do for several weeks.

it is james who shows the biggest excitement among them, hugging sirius thrice when they finally meet, the way a true big brother would do. peter seems nervous, as if the city would swallow him. and remus, always sweet remus, who has grown taller than sirius and now sirius has to tilt his head backwards to get a full view on his face.

although they do not hug, their smiles are enough.

the boys are staying at sirius' place, who, since starting university, moved out and now gets to live in a beautiful, perfectly decorated flat just in the center of the city, away from his awful family.

they go out, explore the city, play records at sirius' apartment, smoke a lot and drink a lot. it's always sirius' treat, and even though they offer to pay him back, they forget about it when james and remus have to carry a pretty much wasted sirius to the taxi.

they all have their individual bedrooms (thank god sirius' place is huge), therefore one night, when remus slips under sirius' bedsheets, sirius doesn't know what to do. sure that night they drank heavily as they are used to do, but is remus that drunk to get his own bedroom wrong?

they fall into comfortable silence, until remus speaks, his words a low whisper, coated in sweetness and truthfulness which makes sirius doubt whether he is supposed to hear them or not.

"i missed you a lot."

sirius tries to conceal he's started to feel nervous by slowly rolling to one side. in a gentle motion, as if otherwise he would disrupt the quietness of the moment, he gets the pack of cigarettes that rested on the bedside table.

"want one?" he offers.

"enough for tonight i'd say."

in the end, they share the cigarette. the only sound in the room being them inhaling and exhaling the smoke, with open windows.

"you've grown handsome, you know?" sirius chooses to break the silence, admiting the truth that remained unspoken among the friend group. remus is now the tallest one, his chiseled jawline and soft stare makes him objectively handsome.

"are you hiding your girl from us, or?" sirius inquires, giving the fact that remus had not talked about any girls he was curious about with them.

remus shows the most delicate smile sirius has ever seen. even surrounded by darkness, sirius still manages to contemplate remus' eyes looking straight into his.

"no, not interested at all in girls."

sirius stops asking then.

after that night, they start looking for each other's eyes constantly. james and peter seem to not notice this, or rather choose to ignore it. under the table their knees brush, their bodies craving for some closure.

all of them keep going out. they go to every touristy place in the city, drink and smoke and joke around. they laugh a lot.

one night while on their new favourite place, a famous leftist bar next to sirius' place, remus sits next to sirius, then whispers in his ear, a grin plastered on his face: "viens me faire un bisou."

at first he did not understand his thick english accent while trying to speak in french, but, oh, when the realization hits him... sirius' mind goes blank.

"what?"

"a guy over there said it to me, what does it mean?"

remus is drunk, but so is sirius, and this situation couldn't be worse now that james and peter are looking at them pretty much confused and curious at the same time.

"nothing important, it's a joke about tourists."

sirius can tell that remus doesn't believe him.

and so that very same night remus goes to sirius' bedroom once again.

"what did it mean, sirius? the french phrase, i mean." remus mutters, getting under sirius's sheets with an upsetting casualness.

sirius could lie, of course. but something in the back of his mind tells him not to do it. like a man standing in front of a cliff ready to jump, he responds.

"give me a kiss."

and this time they lose all of their inhibitions.

neither james nor peter will know that sirius admitted what that phrase truly meant. they won't know as well how one of remus' hands caressed sirius' long hair, or how sirius pulled the tallest one closer against him.

it is a secret they keep to themselves. the cigarettes they smoke after daring to touch each other, the long conversations when no one could hear them. breaking a secret vow and creating a new one, with the prospect that they could embrace freely each other again and again.

night after night, remus keeps going to sirius' room. and, as if desire had taken over them, both become bolder.

it is in pub's restrooms where they kiss each other without shame. sometimes the sounds of belts undoing and zippers going down accompany the fervor of the kisses. although this only happens whenever their friends start a heated discussion with at least three other people in the pub because, of course, only james potter could manage to get three or four parisians to discuss in english with them.

if their friends notice the change, they don't say anything, and sirius is glad for that, because remus' hand sometimes rests on his leg, and sirius' door does a pretty loud sound when it's locked.

remus and sirius kiss each other whenever they can, rough and softly, with their hands tracing the other's body. their skin was craving that exact feeling for such a long time, now they cannot stop, asking one to separate from the other would be like trying to separate tissue from bone. it is in those casual moments when they are the same thing: two boys, with complex minds and complex hearts that secretly longed for their forbidden equal to embrace them.

[applejuicefruit]

Hi angel I love your blog❤️ Can you write something similar to the one shot you wrote with Olivier but reader being 18/19 and being Kylian’s neighbour please? It doesn’t have to be romantic ❤️❤️

tw: domestic violence, bad words, blood mention and a lot of angst

Thank you for requesting this! I hope you like it ⭐️❤️

Something better

You were 19, you just started college, you lived in a nice parisian neighbourhood and everyone thought your life was perfect. Except it wasn’t.

You grew up in a very rich family so everyone assumed you had everything you wanted. They were so wrong. You’re family was very messed up. You’re mom, a secretary for a very important business cheated on your dad with her boss and when you dad found out he decided to confront her about it. Instead she decided to leave and go with her boss. Leaving you all alone with your dad only when you were 9. You and your dad had to survive alone.

He was a lawyer, a very good one. Everyone admired his work, his career and his devotion towards his job, but if only knew what was going on between your four walls.

He started to drink after your mum left. He never forgave her for cheating. He became a completely different man.

The first time he raised his hands on you was when you were 11. You asked him for help with your homework and instead of helping you he slapped you in your face, saying he was too busy working a case.

You blamed yourself. But you were only a kid.

That was the first night but not the last.

He liked beating you. When you were a kid you couldn’t put up a fight so you simply let him.

Now it was a bit different. You were a teenager on her first year of college, hardly at home and when you were at home he was already fast asleep. Sometimes you fought. You were sure your neighbours could hear you. Especially the man who lived in front of you.

The famous football player Kylian Mbappè.

The man you had a crush on. But you knew you couldn’t compete with the models he brought home from games so you simply accepted his friendship.

You were sure he knew what was going on between you and your dad but he never said anything.

One night it got really bad.

It was around 8pm and you were doing some work when your dad came into the apartment shutting the front door so loud it almost broke.

“What have you made for dinner?” he asked you not even greeting you

“I already ate” you said not leaving the face from your laptop

“And you didn’t cook anything for me?”

“You know how to cook”

“That’s not a way to talk to your father!” he shouted making you flinch

“I’m tired I’m going to sleep” you said standing up from the chair but in that moment he grabbed your shoulder and threw you on the ground. Your face hitting the floor so hard you were sure your lips were broken.

“Now I’m gonna ask you again, what have you made for dinner? Bitch”

“I said I already ate”

He punched your face

“Try again”

He punched your nose

You were spitting blood.

You thought he would kill you until you heard the door bell ring.

“Is everything okay?”

It was Kylian.

“I’ve heard some loud noises”

Your dad stood up and told you to stay there and to not talk.

“Hi Kylian, yes, everything okay. Y/n accidentally broke a plate” your dad said making everything look normal

“You sure?”

“Yes Kylian, we were about to eat so…”

“Oh okay, I’ll go” Kylian said before going back to his apartment.

When your dad turned you weren’t there anymore, instead you locked yourself in your bedroom trying to escape him.

That night you didn’t fall asleep. You waited till morning until he would leave for work.

When he left you got out of your room and cleaned the mess that was left in the kitchen.

You looked yourself in the mirror and you cried at the sight of your face. Your left eye was purple and your lips were definitely broken.

Your body ached. You hardly could move.

You were so lost in your mind you didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

“Y/n?” Kylian called from the other side of the door

You opened the door and he swore he almost had a heart attack when he saw your face.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, voice full of concern

“I fell…”

“Sure, try again”

“No really, I fell”

“Chère don’t lie to me, what happened?”

“I told you I fell” you said almost closing the door in front of his face but he stopped it

“Y/n…please” and when he looked at you with those puppy eyes you started crying

“We had a big fight last night…hen didn’t mean to hurt me it was my fault I made him angry”

“Absolutely no! That’s not an excuse” he said hugging you. In that moment you stated crying harder “why don’t we go back to my place and I’ll take care of those bruises?” he asked and you simply nodded.

He guided you into his own place and let you sit on the couch while he grabbed the emergency kit. You tried to be strong but every time he touched your cheek it felt like fire. He sensed it and tried to be more careful.

“I’m sorry I’m hurting you” he said putting some ice on your lip

“No it’s fine…”

“It’s really not y/n. Have you talked about this with someone?” he asked a bit concerned

“With who?” you said back in a low tone “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to snap at you”

“Don’t worry…but, what about your mom? You have other relatives…have you talked to them?” he asked trying to being helpful

“It’s all my mom’s fault if he’s like this. She left him. She left us. He tried to be a good father at first but eventually he gave up, he said it was my fault my parents weren’t together anymore…”

“You know it’s not your fault”

“I know it’s not my fault now but I needed that comfort when I was a kid, not now” you said trying to forget your awful childhood “Kylian I was a kid…how can you blame a kid for that?”

Kylian was so mad at your father. No kids should be treated like this.

“You know what? You’ll stay here. I’ll give you the guest bedroom, I’ll give you some spare keys and you’ll stay here”

“No I can’t accept, plus, he lives in front of you…”

“Yes but he can’t get into my place”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here Kylian…I just want a normal life”

“Can you at least think about it? I can’t let you go back knowing he might hurt you again”

“He won’t. I know him. It was just a bad day yesterday” you lied knowing that the moment you would walk back into the apartment things would get worse.

“Y/n…”

“I’ll be fine Kylian, I swear” and with that you left his apartment.

That night you didn’t even left your bedroom. You were too scared he might hurt you again.

Instead you cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning you came out of your bedroom only to see your father fast asleep on the couch with a few empty beer bottles.

You tried to not make any noise but eventually he woke up.

“Is it too complicated for you to be silent? Can’t you even do that? You’re worthless” he said standing from the couch and coming towards you.

“I didn’t want to wake you” you said in a low voice

“But you did”

“I’m sorry…”

“Can you make me some breakfast?”

“I’m late for university…”

“You know I wasn’t really asking” he shouted

“Dad I-“

When you spoke back he got up and started walking towards you.

“You need to lear some good manners” he said throwing an empty bottle on the ground and crashing in it.

You flinched a bit and started to cry.

Before he made more steps you ran out of your apartment.

While you ran out you accidentally bumped into Kylian.

“Y/n?” he said looking at you with a worried face “hey look at me…y/n look at me”

You looked at him and you couldn’t stop crying. He hugged you and said nothing. Instead he got you into his apartment and gave you some water to drink.

“He got mad at me” you said “again…”

“Y/n…”

“I can’t-I can’t stay there anymore…”

“I have an apartment, on the other side of Paris, it’s a bit far but it’s safe, you can live there for a while if you want to” he said looking at you.

You were really thinking about it.

“Are-are you sure?” you asked and he nodded “okay then…”

After that he took you to his house place. The apartment was huge. It had an amazing view on the Eiffel Tower. A huge living room and five bedrooms.

“Why do you live there when you could stay here all the time” you asked referring to your building. Yes it was nice and expensive but nothing compared to this.

“To stay near you…” he said shyly looking away

“What?”

“I know what you’re going through and I didn’t want you to stay alone…”

“Kylian…”

“You deserve better than this. You deserve a great family. Great friends. You deserve more and I-I wished I could give you what you needed”

“What you mean?” you asked not understanding what he meant

“I mean I care for you okay? You’re one of my best friend and I want to protect you”

Best friend.

That hurt.

A lot.

You didn’t say anything but you simply nodded.

He was going to speak but his phone rang.

When he answered you heard a faint voice of a woman on the other side calling him love.

That was when you broke down crying.

For everything.

Your shitty life. Your parents. All the pain you went through all of your life. Your non existent love life. Your crush who didn’t like you back. You didn’t deserved this life but you couldn’t do anything about it.

“Y/n…I have to go now but call me if you need anything okay?” he said looking at you.

You nodded and when he left you laid on the couch and kept crying.

“Do I really deserve this life?” you asked yourself.

You couldn’t stay there.

You went into Kylian’s room and looked for money. He told you he kept some money in his closet so you looked there.

You found 7000€ in cash so you took them.

You looked for a piece of paper and wrote something.

I’m sorry but I have to leave. I can’t stay here. Thank you so much for everything you did for me, I’ll never forget it. I took some money but I promise you I’ll pay you back.

I hope you have a good life.

-your best friend, y/n

You placed the peace of paper on the table, not knowing if he would come back.

And with that you left. You didn’t know where you were going but you left. Leaving Paris behind. Leaving your life behind.

[twinkrespecter]

Do you live in a Parisian apartment or something?

oh no, where I live these kinds of apartments (built between 1870 and 1910) are rent controlled! They have pretty high ceilings cause that was the style at the time

[elsalouisa]

"The visit of the Czar and Czarina in 1901 gives rise to even more riotous celebrations. It is the peak of the Franco-Russian alliance. The band of the First Regiment of the Imperial Guard—the Preobrazhensky Regiment—is in town giving concerts. Russian uniforms are everywhere; you scarcely ever hear the “Marseillaise” without hearing immediately afterward “Bozhe Tzaria Khrani’; “Vive la France!” is followed by “Vive la Russie!” Beneath the crossed flags—the tricolor and double eagle—on the streets bearded Russians and wiry French tush into each other’s arms and kiss and, to make it more Russian, three times on each cheek. A Cossack almost gives his life for the jubilee celebrating the Franco-Russian accord when he is mobbed by the affection of the crowds as a member of Their Majesties’ retinue. The entente cordiale is constantly more cordial.

Then comes the Ballet Russe of Sergei Pavlovich Diaghilev. It is madness. The colors of the costumes of Léon Bakst are bright and strange. Nijinsky’s fantastic leaps draw cheers. The incomparable Anna Pavlova is an ethereal swan. The inspired dancing of Mordkin, Massine and Karsavina to the music of Stravinsky, Debussy and Ravel drives Parisians wild! People start to pick up Russian words, to change ‘their apartments and be delighted if “c’est trés Russe.” Paris is embarked on a Russian craze—women affect la maniére Russe, wearing Caucasian blouses, Cossack boots, Ukrainian hats as stylized by the French modistes. Coats are tcherkeskas, kaftans, poddevkas —broad in the shoulders, wide in the skirt, with braided belts catching up wasp waists. It’s very chic. I must get one, two, three of everything...

I glimpse the Czar of all the Russias and the Czarina for the first time this summer at an immense reception at the Palais de l'Elysée, where a beaming President Faure receives Their Majesties. Nicholas II charms everyone. He is short, broad-shouldered, stands straight and looks at the crowd from patient dark gray-blue eyes. He is earnest, the living image of his mother, and appears as a rule in a simple uniform, often that of a colonel of one of his favorite regiments. The Empress, Her Majesty Alexandra, a little German Princess of Hesse, is taller and holds herself proudly. Her coiffure, just a small tight lump of blond hair, is the despair of Delacroix, the court hairdresser. She is usually in white and wearing jewels, mostly pearls and diamonds, from ears to waist. She wears them without joy. She does not inspire the spontaneous French. “Oh, la la! Elle a une figure d’enterrement!” I hear on the streets. (She has the expression of one who follows a funeral.) When I am first presented to her this sadness is thought to be because she is a mother only of girls. Always she asks when a matron is presented to her, “Have you children?” And looks sadder than ever if the lady, plunging in a deep reverence, answers, “A son, Your Majesty.”

Marguerite Cassini "Never a dull moment"

[artzychic27]

Part 2 for this:

*Rouge’s ears perk up at the sound of a melodic organ echoing just outside of Palais Garnier. Whipping out her grappling hook, she shoots it and the hook attaches itself to the railing before she pulls herself up to a window. Peering through the glass, she finds MalevoLyricist, once again in a different outfit, sitting before a grand organ on a stage under a spotlight*

Rouge: What do we have here? *She opens the window ever so carefully as the melody reaches its climax*

*With a dramatic sweep of his cape, MalevoLyricist faces his invisible audience and bows*

MalevoLyricist: Thank you! Thank you! Oh, you’re too kind! With the satellite in my control, soon all the world will be singing my praise!… And of course, making me rich so I can buy my demon prince a promise ring. Just as long as-

*A long shadow suddenly falls over him. Rouge stands perfectly positioned in front of the full moon casting its light through the window, creating an intimidating silhouette that would make her mentor/father proud*

Rouge: That show’s gonna have a long intermission, MalevoLyricist. Twenty years to live.

*MalevoLyricist grits his teeth in anger. Why can’t they just leave him alone?!*

MalevoLyricist: Rouge! Always Rouge! Always driving villains BATS! *He slams his fingers down on the keys of an organ, and smoke whooshes out from the pipes in a dramatic display. Rouge’s vision becomes obstructed as the smoke takes over the grand room, and the villain escapes out of a door using his scooter that’s in the shape of two beamed eighth notes while doing a series of outfit changes*

She was just a sidekick,

Some girl wonder at HIS call!

Her utility belt holds everything,

Can't find that at the mall!

*As MalevoLyricist speeds through the streets of Paris, civilians hear his hypnotic singing and fall under his spell and try to apprehend Rouge while she’s gunning after him on her motorcycle*

Her motorcycle’s super fast,

There no vehicle that is surpassed!

It's a good thing we've got Arkham,

'Cause she really drives us bats!

*His singing projects all the way to L’asile d’Arkham, where the teenage villains immediately fall under his thrall and grip and shake the bars of their prison cells*

Villain Kids: Drives us bats!

Drives us bats!

He really drives us bats, bats, bats!

He drives us bats!

*The musical villain gracefully waves his way through and over the streets. When he rides off of a building and onto a telephone wire, Rouge leaps off of her motorcycle and grabs on to the back of his note scooter, only for it to split apart. They resume after him while riding on the other half*

MalevoLyricist: Whether dancing the Batusi,

Or using an array of tools,

She’s always got the answer!

She makes us look like fools!

*When Rouge attempts to lunge for him, MalevoLyricist surprises her once more by revealing that the half scooter also has a flying function, and he takes off toward the asylum*

MalevoLyricist: Has got no super powers,

She’s just a flying rat!

It's a good thing we've got Arkham,

Cause she really drives us bats!

*While the Parisians are keeping Rouge busy, MalevoLyricist makes his way to L’asile d’Arkham. The louder he sings, the more relentless the villains become, and they attack and disarm the guards with their powers and abilities. Adrien, displaying his gymnastics skills, easily dodges the guards and pushes one down the stairs. Rose summons an army of vines to restrain several of the guards while Max hacks into the security system to free any other inmates. Grown to twenty feet, Nathaniel gathers some guards in his hand and places them in one of the cells. Myléne spreads her fear gas, forcing many of the guards to thrash and writhe on the floor as they see their greatest fears in their heads*

Villain Kids: Drives Us Bats!

MalevoLyricist: Taught by the greatest detective!

Villain Kids: Drives Us Bats!

Ivan: Foiling every evil scheme!

Villains: She really drives us bats, bats, bats!

She drives us bats!

*After MalevoLyricist shoots the door with a blast from his conductor’s baton, the villains break out of the asylum. The heroes quickly arrive on the scene and try to stop them while still stuck singing*

Juleka: Even without shark repellent...

Kim: ...They’re tougher than they seem.

Aurore: Other heroes often ask.... *She fends off against Alix and Rose who try to snatch her earplugs*

Alix: Get her earplugs!

Gia: *Loading an arrow* ... Why is he always the top cat?

Everyone: She drives us bats, drives us bats, drives us bats!

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[samstclair]

Nathan Fielder’s Frenchie

Nathan Fielder X Reader

Anonymous Request - "Hello Sam! Okay, so this might be a bit weird, but I think you're the one that can take this on. I have this fantasy of meeting Nathan in Paris, and we're just Parisian lovers. It is the city of love after all! Could you make that work? Thanks, keep everything up!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They say that there are seven wonders of the world, though you don't know exactly who the "they" that said it were, or if Paris, France, is even one of those seven. But in the end it's still something definitely said, it's definitely something you would say...

Or perhaps, would have said.

Of all the things you would've never expected in this wee world, you truly didn't expect to want to leave Paris. Because it's literally Paris.

You've known since you were a wee child that it's a place you were destined to go to - from those shitty Michael's French-inspired decorations almost every girl in middle school had plastered all over her room, to those buttery hollow croissants, striped mime-ass outfits, and red lipstick-stained cigarettes - you always knew Paris was the place for you...

Or was it?

Your experience had been anything but exceptional. You thought you would ditch all your problems behind back home. Oh, how you wrong you were. No hate to the city, but nothing seemed to be going right, it was always one thing after another and another and another and another and another and another.

First of all, you had a layover flight that would stop in London and then Paris, booking it literally the night before. But you underestimated the power of those little pink Barbie Benadryl pills you popped in your little pink Barbie mouth just moments before.

"London, and then Paris," you remember muttering to yourself, smirking, "here I come."

Click. Click.

Flight. Secured.

You then remember falling soundly asleep, thankfully not getting a visit from the Hat Man. Those pills were put to work.

But your dumbass inebriated self actually got a flight to London, Ohio. And you didn't realize this until you landed in that godforsaken state, (shout out Ohio, no hate!).

So that's one. Next, when you finally got to Paris, you got to your empty apartment, which had been advertised online to be a wee bit bigger. Instead, you got the full French experience of living in a replica of Linguini's home from Ratatouille. But where was your rat? Let's be real - you had no friends and you definitely didn't want little rodents around. A girl all alone in Paris? Oh no.

You moved pretty impulsively, deciding to spend your student loans on the trip rather than going back to school, which you were inadvertently dropped from for not showing up for an entire semester. Oops your alarm didn't work, who cares. Last you heard, something or someone called the "IRS" was at your apartment door? You weren't sure what that was, at first you thought it stood for "It's Ronnie and Sam" and that Jersey Shore was initially at your doorstep, but it wasn't. In a way you were glad, Ronnie and Sam were NOT something needed to come back.

Anyway it was something about applying for scholarships that you were well not qualified for, that they wanted to see you for. Apparently you committed 'fraud' by opening a GoFundMe for your supposed 're-contractment of the Bubonic plague'? You weren't sure, it was a lot of adult words being thrown around, too much for your little brain to comprehend, and to be quite honest, it's all in the past now. Those $30,000 that you were able to raise was all yours now, and now out of your old country, there's nothing they can do about it now. If this was the medieval times, that GoFundMe could've saved billions of lives. Plus, fraud probably doesn't even exist in France. So if you look at it that way, where's all the harm in that?

After leaving your apartment to get some of that croissant, you felt a deep craving, an itch, for yogurt. You weren't sure what it was, there was nothing around you that had anything remotely to do with yogurt, but you just needed it. It was something needed. You felt your heart race at the thought, mouth watering and beads of sweat dripping down, forming a puddle at your feet.

"Mommy. Wants. Her. Oui. Yogurt." you thought.

But alas, for it being French yogurt, every store employee looked at you like it was Covid all over again and you just coughed in their face - horrified. None of them had it.

"What's a girl gotta do to get some Oui yogurt around here, God!" you screamed at the French man. You then stomped out, ground shaking, searched for a curb not littered with cigarettes, found one and sat.

You looked around, trying to take advantage of the ambience like one of those four hour long YouTube videos.

But you realized - this isn't Paris. This is just some recreation of Epcot's France. No smell of baguettes in the air, no mimes harassing you in their silence, no escargot sliding along the pavement, no women wearing berets - nothing.

You felt water well up in your eyes, your head falling between your knees in defeat. Nothing was going as you planned, and you'd only been here for less than two hours. What more could go wrong? You picked up an old, squashed cigarette beside you. You placed it between your lips, trying to envision yourself as the Parisian you always wanted to be...

"Se vu me plah gyasoh pwezi cha que son gee."

You jumped up at the voice behind you, accidentally throwing the cigarette to the street, hitting a bicyclist in the face and causing him to topple over.

It was a man who came to you. A French man. He just spat some French jargon at you and had no idea what the actual fuck he was telling you. He looked a bit concern, and you probably thought he was checking in to see if you were okay. You didn't know how to say no thank you, you're a stranger and this is stranger danger, so you said the only French you knew embarrassingly exceptionally well.

"C'est la vie," you mumbled, through wet boogers and wet tears.

You rose up, as if those words brought a new life into you, and left. He stood there, still worried, watching you walk away.

But you weren't walking for long.

It was late. A little too late. You couldn't read French time but it was dark so that meant it was late. You needed to get back soon, so you did what you knew best, next to those three little words in French: you ran.

You started running, the most you ever ran you just ran. The tears morphed into sweat and your limbs began to ache not long after a couple blocks. The wind rushed past your eyes and it was so cold it began to make your nose numb. Fuck this running shit - you needed a taxi.

You called and called, waved down and waved down, but no yellow car would stop.

"What's a girl gotta do to get a cab around here?" you screamed again, this time at a pigeon. He didn't respond. "What's a girl gotta do to be a mere femme fatale?!"

And just like that, as if the pigeon was a genie, one finally appeared.

A loud, deafening screech came from your right. You whipped your head over, giving yourself whiplash.

Screeeeeeeeeeech.

While making a sharp, extremely dangerous turn at the corner, a busted yellow taxi hauled ass over to you and pulled over to the side of the pavement right where you stood, blocking traffic.

"Oh my god yes, finally!" you exclaimed, running around back to the back seat and plopping your booty in. Once the door slammed behind you, you were off.

You felt your body slump deeper into the chair, succumbing to the comfort and warmth. Before you knew it, you nearly strangled yourself from the seatbelt forming something like a noose around your neck because you went down so low. You sprung back up.

"No way I'm dying in Paris", you thought. You wondered if Jay-Z and K*nye would write about who was in Paris then if that happened.

The driver pulled up to a less busy corner, put that baby in park, and looked back to face you, hand behind the passenger's seat headrest.

"Where we off to, pretty lady?" he asked.

You looked out the window, admiring the view. It was a trash can overfilled with trash, little Remys and Emiles scattering around. Though not traditionally visually appealing, there was something quite coquette Pinterest about it.

"Home." you said. "I'm going home."

You turned to face him after delivering that femme fatale line, but all the femme fatale dropped out of your system like the opposite of constipation when you're shitting - it's Nathan fucking Fielder.

"Oh my god, aren't you Nathan Fielder?"

His face dropped so fast it was inhuman. He whipped around back facing forward like a dog who got caught eating toilet paper.

"No," he said lowly. He cleared his throat. "Erm, no." he then said more confidently, with a strange accent attached. "No, I am, um, I am jus taxi drive, no field. I, um, I eatta the baguette."

His accent was a mixture of Borat, Jacques from Finding Nemo, and just an overall shitty (and maybe offensive) Italian impression put together.

"No way that's what a French sounds like talking English", you thought. But, not wanting to be rude and offend the man's impersonation skills, you stayed quiet. This isn't America's Got Talent, and you're not Randy or Simon.

"Why are you working in a taxi? Why are you in Paris?" you asked as he started driving. "Wait, is this Rehearsal? Am I on the Rehearsal? Is this the 'IRS' trying to do a rehearsal with me?" you asked, butterflies filling up in your stomach at the thought. You began scoping out the car for any cameras, but instead you looked slightly mentally deranged with a big frightening Joker smile on your face and your head clocking it in different directions.

"I sorry, I don know who dis, dis Natan Field is, no? Um, c'est la vie? I'm just happy to be in Pari!" he chuckled nervously. His driving became more erratic as well as his breathing.

"Oh my god that like rhymed you should be a poet." you complimented. Your mother always told you, honesty is the best policy. Except for his impersonations that was dog shit.

He began to slouch in his seat, an attempt for you not to identify him. Every time you looked over, he got lower and lower. You didn't want to say anything, you felt it best to mind your own business. It wasn't long until he eventually stopped and stood up straight as he almost got into several mini collisions because he couldn't see over the wheel.

"So how long have you been working in a taxi?"

"Look, I'm gonna be honest with you," he said, now speaking with a regular English accent, "I am Nathan Fielder. I'm sorry I lied, I just don't want people knowing who I am. That's why I moved to Pari, because French people aren't that funny so they wouldn't know me, you know what I'm saying?"

"Of course, Nathan," you said, "I understand. I understand completely. Did HBO fire you?"

He didn't reply for some time. That some time went on for about forty minutes.

"They did. But I don't want to talk about it."

You were nearly in your REM stage when he finally answered, forcing your eyes awake. You forgot what you asked, and didn't realize how far you ran from your apartment as you two were still driving.

"So do you know any fun facts?" you asked, attempting to keep the conversation flowing.

"I do, actually!" he said, an excited smile growing on his face. He seemed to be bottling this in for some time, waiting for a person to ask. "Did you know OJ Simpson was nicknamed 'Stinky' in prison?"

"No I didn't. Where are you from?"

"Vancouver. British Columbia." he answered.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry about the Queen. She was a queen," you said.

"Do you know this song? It's one of my favorites," Nathan asked, seemingly intentionally ignoring what you just said. He turned the radio up, and familiar whistles echoed through the car. It was Moves Like Jagger by Maroon 5. "I love this song, it just brings out a boogie in me that I've never experienced in my lifetime before."

"I actually don't like this song, can you shut it off?" you said. His excited face dropped, and he turned off the radio at your command.

Your eyes began to close again, but you couldn't help but feel another set of them on you. Something was watching, and it wasn't Nathan - he's watching the road, being a safe driver - no something was watching you. You crank your head over just a bit, still hurting from the whiplash from the screeeeeching. Your brain couldn't process what was in the seat beside you.

"Are those...." you gulped.

One was all white, had blue beady eyes, a yellow beak, and a long tail that went all the way down to the floor, cosplaying as the Pope.

Another was all black, had purple beady eyes, a yellow beak, piercings and a large pentagram necklace on its chest.

Another was modded out to look like a giant moth, like a final boss in some World of Warcraft shit, head too small for its torso that seemed to resemble the size of a medium-sized dog.

Another was covered and smothered in cold baked beans. It also had a yellow beak.

Another was also all black but eyes blood red, still with a yellow beak.

Another was molded into the body of a centipede, crawling all over the interior of the car.

And lastly, perhaps most disturbing, were two that had been sewed together to resemble conjoined twins.

You gulped again. Your body was in shock, immovable. You would've rather seen the Hat Man.

"Sweet furb collection." you were able to muster up.

"Ahh, yes, my customized furby collection! No ones noticed, you're the first!"

You weren't sure how that was possible. The only way of that being the case was if one of the customers he drove was blind.

"How have they not noticed? They take up the entire back row?" Before you knew it, you were pushing some extra furbies with your feet as they had taken up and overflowed the entire floor, pushing against you.

All their heads were facing you - their beady eyes making you the center of their attention, their world...

There was an uncanny valley vibe to them that made you want to incinerate them. It brought a sense of violence in you that you had never experienced before. They were unnatural and made you queasy.

"I don't know, they just don't. They've never complimented me. You know, they're hard to come by, especially the custom ones. During World War II, the Germans stole them, you know, it wasn't just those paintings they took, but they don't teach you that in history. They don't want you to know the truth,"

As he began rambling on about the seizing and burning of the historical documents on the Great Furby Siege of 1942, the staring contest between you and the modded out robots became intensified. Eventually, your ears started to ring. Those balls of sweat returned. Your hands got clammy and your chest started to hurt.

There was a presence to them, something that made them force your eyes onto them. They had the full authority of that back seat, and you were the next contender to challenge them. They dared you to keep staring, but you had no choice. Their magnetic forces and gravitational pulls towards their direction was too powerful. Your fight or flight mode was now on full activation.

"..And so that's how German officials actually got the baked beans one to be made, apparently they were a big fan of that cuisine, but weren't a big fan when they had to auction them off to pay reparations to all the countries they destroyed. Personally, I'm not a fan of baked beans, but I still needed to buy it. I mean, how could you not? Look at the little thing!"

Nathan turned over to you several times, looking for validation. But he hadn't realized that you were currently locked in a battle with the furbies.

Finally, from after what seemed like hours, Nathan pulled over to your apartment building. He fully turned to you, concerned like that French man.

"Hey, you don't look so good," he said. You didn't. You looked like you had just gone through a withdrawal.

Safe to say, you were able to break free from the chains of those furbies. You rubbed your eyes so hard you saw those little purple and pink stars. Your consciousness was regained.

"I'm sorry," you said. "They're just, they're just like, really strong."

He laughed anxiously. "Hey, do you mind if," he spoke lowly, "do you mind if I get some food from your apartment? I spent my last three hundred dollars on this furby from Russia, it's supposed to be RuPaul themed. I'm really hungry."

"Yeah sure, I actually didn't have any money on me to pay for the fare, so I guess me feeding you will call it even?"

"It's even." He smiled, extending his hand for you to shake. You wanted to, but your hands were too moist and clammy. You couldn't embarrass yourself in front of him by touching him with the state your hands were in. Gross.

"Um, uh, I don't know how to shake hands," you spat. "Anyway, let's go!"

You climbed out of the car and ran into your apartment. He did the same, sprinting.

You two finally got to your wee teeny apartment.

"Wow, this is pretty spacious," he said, looking around in awe.

"What do you mean, are you blind?" you asked.

"No, I can see pretty good. What do you have to eat?"

You started to realize that since you just moved, you literally didn't have anything in the fridge, instead hopeful for that crate of Oui yogurt. You checked anyway, as if a charcuterie board would just randomly appear.

You flung that door open and oh my god it's a charcuterie board.

"Perfect!" you thought. Nathan was gonna love you so much.

"Here, voila! That's French for a charcuterie board!"

You plopped it on the table, the only furniture you had. Nathan, without thought, started to rummage through, nibbling away at the cheeses and slices of ham and grapes and salami and olives and crackers. You watched, smiling to yourself all warm inside. Something about taking care and feeding him brought you such a sense of fulfillment, a sense of comfort.

"Is this what Gusteau felt like?" you thought. "Is this what Linguini felt like he when he literally triggered Anton Ego into a revelation he had back thirty years before into his childhood?"

As he made a little nibbling noise as he ate, holding the food with at the top of his little fingers, it resembled to you something of a mouse...

A mouse...

A little rodent...

A rat.

It hit you, hit you so hard you felt yourself light-headed and took a seat on the ground since there were no chairs in your empty apartment. You felt as if the furbies had casted their demonic spells onto you again.

Nathan was just that. He was your rat, your friend, your Remy.

He was that companion you needed, the little rodent in your life to live out the rest of it in Paris with. Something had finally gone right.

Nibble. Nibble.

He continued to eat, lost in his own world, half the charcuterie board empty.

Nibble. Nibble. Nibble.

You pondered deeper on the thought. If you didn't know this was Nathan Fielder and wasn't already comfortable with him, then getting into a taxi man's taxi and seeing an entourage of furbies would be pretty weird. But since it was Nathan, you weren't weirded out? Despite those customized furbies having a psychological grip on your subconscious and concept of what it was to be a human in control of themselves, they were separate from Nathan. He probably never experienced that from them. Or maybe he did? Maybe he's under their influence, that's why he spent his rent money on a Russian RuPaul? Because those furbies had altered his paradigm shifts. Those paradigms were shifting.

But, never mind that.

The point is, had that been any other person, you would've been alarmed at the niche and fear that commenting on it would result in you getting yourself on some girl's unsolved crime mukbang video on her YouTube channel. But you didn't fear that with Nathan, no, you had to let him embrace it. You had to be his safe space. And God so help you, you would be.

Nibble. Nibble.

"Oh my god, that was delicious, Y/N," Nathan burped, so loud and forceful the empty charcuterie board flew off the table.

"Wait, how'd you know my name was Y/N?" you asked.

"The furbies told me, silly," he laughed, lifting his shirt and rubbing his belly. "I'm so full, that was the best meal I've ever had!"

"I'm glad you liked it, Nathan. You're like my little Remy!"

"Thanks, Y/N! Can I live here?!"

"Of course, Nathan!" You jump up to hug him, he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the hard floor and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your "Paris, Je t'aime" shirt you got at the Ohio airport off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia" he says.

You lift your legs as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member intro your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the boy from British Columbia in. This is it. No furbies, no IRS, no college, nothing - just you and Nathan.

Your new life was about to begin. You were now sure, Nathan was that seventh wonder of the world.

Hope you enjoyed! xoxo, ~Sam St. Clair

[parisian-nicole]

GarVez Ficlet: Luke's Babygirl

Author: Parisian Nicole

Rating: K+

Summary: This idea was totally @darcyfangirlsfrequently. I completely blame her (as well as thank her) for this perfectly naughty idea :D

***

“Hey,” She greeted her friend at the threshold of her open apartment door. “Thank you for coming over on such short notice,” She said as she stepped back, waved her friend inside, and then closed the door behind her after she entered. “And on your day off too.”

“I don’t mind Penelope,” Emily Prentiss replied as she placed her purse on the armchair closest to the door and then held up the paper bag she had in her grip. “You sounded like you might need some liquid courage, so I brought some tequila,” She added on with a smile that broadened when she saw the look of gratitude flash across Penelope’s face.

“God, yes,” Penelope gushed out as she hurried to her kitchen for the shot glasses, while Emily moved behind her to settle at the large island which separated the living room and the kitchen in the open-concept apartment.

“So, what’s going on? You sounded a little panicked on the phone.”

“Let me have some of that liquid courage first please,” Penelope replied as she tapped her shot glass atop the counter. With a smile, Emily opened the Tequila and pour them both a shot, which Penelope quickly drank down and then smacked the glass back down onto the counter. “Okay, maybe one more,” She gurgled out with her face contorted from the burning in her throat and stomach. Emily obliged, poured her another drink, and then finally drank her own as she waited for Penelope to tell her what was going on. “All right, first I need you to promise that you won’t fire or reassign anyone,” Penelope finally began.

“Well, if this is referring to you, technically, you don’t work for the FBI anymore. You’re just a liaison helping on the Sicarius case. Though, you know the door is always open for you if you want to come back.”

“Oh, yeah,” Penelope replied as she realized Emily was right. “So, say if myself and someone else on the team were ‘fraternizing’ … but not at work … well, except for tiny, little kisses behind closed doors …”

“Okay, Penelope, if this is about you and Luke sleeping together, I already know, and there’s no policy that prohibits you two from dating even if you still officially worked for the FBI. It only becomes a problem if a supervisor and a subordinate were involved because of the imbalance of the power dynamics. And while you know I love you and Luke both dearly, I don’t want to have sex with either of you, sorry,” Emily teased with a chuckle and Penelope rolled her eyes slightly as she smiled.

“So, you knew, already? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Yes, we folks who are not getting any tend to be acutely aware when those around us are getting it, and it’s none of my business. The whole gossiping thing is … well, that’s your shtick.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I can be a little bit of a busybody,” Penelope agreed with a giggle. “But you all love it,” Emily smiled while she nodded, as that was true for the most part.

“You don’t have to worry about yours and Luke’s personal relationship, so long as it doesn’t affect the job, there will be no issues or reprimanding,” Emily assured her friend.

“That’s good to know but that wasn’t why I called you over, I need your help with something,” Penelope replied with a sigh. “Me telling you that Luke and I are sleeping together was just the prologue.”

“All right,” Emily said as she narrowed her eyes and looked at her friend suspiciously. “So, what’s this really about?”

“My back,” Penelope said as if that would explain all, but the scowl that morphed across Emily’s face spoke to her confusion.

“Your back?” Emily repeated and Penelope nodded as she moved around the counter to where her friend sat on one of the stools, and lifted the oversized faded green Ranger t-shirt she wore, which Emily suspected had belonged to Luke.

“Yes, my back,” Penelope confirmed as she turned until her back was fully facing Emily. Emily stared at it still baffled. “Is there something abnormal or grotesque that I’m not seeing when I try to look with two mirrors? Like some huge mole with hairs growing out of it?” She asked as she frowned up in disgust as did Emily at her words.

“No, I’m not seeing anything like that,” Emily stated. “Why are you wondering and worrying about that?”

“Because Luke doesn’t seem to like my back,” Penelope confessed. “I mean, he likes most of it. He can spend hours marking every inch of my body with his hands, mouth, tongue …”

“I get the picture, Penelope,” Emily quickly interjected and cut off the words and imagery.

“There has got to be something there because he’ll start caressing and kissing my back and then it’s like a switch flips, and he stops and moves on. He’s never said anything and the places he moves on to instantly distract me and I never think to ask him about it in the moment. Then I’m too embarrassed to bring it up later. There must be something wrong back there, a heavier deposit of gross back fat maybe? Please tell me the truth,” Emily could hear the genuine distress in her friend’s voice and so she closely looked but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary until her eyes honed in on something partially hidden by the elastic waistband on the sweatpants Penelope wore. When Emily reached out her right hand and used two fingers to push down the band just a bit, she had a quiet ‘Eureka!’ moment.

“I think I see the problem,” Emily announced and a wide-eyed Penelope twisted her head to try to also see it.

“You do? What is it? Is it bad?” Penelope fired off questions.

“It probably is very bad for Luke,” Emily answered. “But he’s willing to deal with it by just avoiding it.”

“Oh god, what is it?”

“Babygirl,” Emily said matter-of-fact and Penelope scrunched up her face in confusion.

“What?”

“You have a ‘Babygirl’ tattoo on your lower back, Penelope,” Emily said with a little chuckle very amused that Penelope was not comprehending that that was the problem. “Why do you have that particular tattoo?”

“It was a matching tattoo I got years ago with Der … ek, Oh,” Penelope pushed out as realization dawned on her and she pushed down the shirt and turned to face her friend as she sat on the nearest stool.

“Right, a term of endearment that you and definitely Derek has deemed to be exclusively yours,” Emily said as she poured them each another shot of tequila. “Seriously, I think if he could, Derek would trademark it so no one else could call you that but him. And I am sure Luke probably knows that too.

“Oh,” Penelope mumbled as she grabbed her shot glass and gulped it down.

“Yeah, oh,” Emily said as she also tossed back her drink and then she smacked the glass onto the counter. “You do know that there’s an easy way to fix this, right?”

“There is?” Penelope asked as her eyes lit up at this news and Emily nodded as she smiled.

“Yep, but you’re probably gonna need a few more of these first, then I’ll take you, and it’ll be my treat,” She continued as she poured Penelope another shot, while Penelope’s brows furrowed as she tried to comprehend what her friend meant.

***

Three Days Later

***

She had been anxiously waiting for the telling jingling of the spare keys she had given him a month prior. He had been away for a few days with Roxy doing voluntary training with the FBI K-9 Unit. For the past two hours, he had been texting her updates on his arrival back home. The plan was for him to come straight to her place. He had told her that he probably should just go to his place to rest up first, which she was in full agreeance with, but then he told her that his need to see her and to be wrapped around her as he slept overruled any other thoughts on the matter. And she did feel a little bit guilty as she staged herself on the floor of her apartment just as she heard the latch of the lock and then the creak of the door opening.

“Honey, we’re home … Ay, Dios mío,” Luke Alvez playfully greeted as soon as he pushed open the door to allow Roxy to trot in first. Then he lost his train of thought as his eyes locked onto her delectable derriere that was stuck up in the air as she was on the floor on her hands and knees looking under her sofa. Roxy moved to Penelope’s side and settled down beside whom she now recognized as the Beta in their relationship. “Penelope, bae, I’m gonna need at least 4 hours of sleep before I have the strength,” He went on as he felt his mouth grow dry and his cock become swollen at seeing her wiggling her ass, seemingly unaware of what it was doing to him.

Got it,” Penelope said victoriously as she pulled from her position reaching under the sofa for the ball of yarn she had planted there. Then she settled back comfortably on her haunches. “Hi, Roxy,” She greeted the dog who sat beside her patiently awaiting the attention she had been missing for three days, as Penelope, rubbed, scratched, and kissed her. “Hi,” She then beamed up at Luke who still stood in the open doorway with one bag over his left shoulder and a larger duffle bag in his right hand. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” She played coy even when she knew what he had said, why he had said it. Just as she knew the exact reason he stood there looking shell-shocked with his mouth open and his eyes locked to her backside. And yes, maybe she had strategically tucked the hem of the tank top she wore up some to expose her lower back.

“You got another tattoo,” Luke said and his tone suggested it was a statement and not a question, but she still answered it as such.

“Oh, yes,” Penelope replied as she lifted her shirt more, pushed down the elastic of the sweatpants, and twisted a little to give him a better view. “I just thought the original one was kind of stale, and it seemed unfinished. So, I just added to it and I think it flows better now. What do you think?” She asked him with the most innocent look she could muster, not that it mattered because Luke couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the new tattoo.

“You’ve got 15 seconds,” He spoke out as he let both of the bags he carried drop from his body, back-kicked the door shut, and then reach back behind himself to lock it. Penelope’s quim instantly became wet and started to throb as she continued to play dumb, though she knew Luke’s countdown to sex game very well by now.

“Luke, what’s wrong?” She questioned him and tried hard to feign bafflement but she gave up the act when with one hand and in one swift motion, Luke had divested himself of the black FBI t-shirt he wore. He now stood bare-chested before her while his hungry gaze remained locked onto the tattoo.

“Twelve,” Was his only reply as he began undoing the belt he wore while toeing off one shoe and then the other. Penelope appreciatively raked her eyes over his beautiful body, giggled as she scrambled up from the floor, and then ran toward the back to her bedroom. “Roxy, stay,” Luke barked out a command before the canine could follow after his mistress. “Nine!” Luke yelled out as he now made his way to the back of the apartment.

The End!

[pilferingapples]

Les Miserables 1948 pt 2 (a) : In Which Absolutely Nothing Will Be Explained

My previous review posts here: 1a and 1b

Warning that those posts, like this post, contain spoilers. Yes even if you've read Les Miserables. Especially if you've read Les Miserables. I really strongly advise not reading this post if you think you're gonna see this version soon because going in unspoilered was a treat.

That said, let's roll!!

The second half starts with the Amis!! They're all printing Illegal Materials and discussing the latest censorship laws!

[ID: a group of photos of the Amis, young-ish men in surprisingly good 1830s outfits, reading a paper that offers "1,000 francs to anyone that will provide information likely to lead to the identification or arrest of the makers, holders, or disseminators of revolutionary newspapers, posters, pamphlets." /end ID]

Credit where credit's more than due: this is a fantastic way of introducing a large group of new characters and a new setting (wider Paris)! As they discuss their work, we learn more about them, their goals, and Parisian politics. Elegant and efficient! genuinely , I love this approach and wish more adaptations would do something like it

Unfortunately, while they do showcase several people doing various tasks, they don't name all of them--a shame, when it would have been so easy! But we do get to meet

Enjolras and Marius, the older leaders of the group! Here, Marius (left) is trying to get Enjolras (on the right) to leave Paris for his own safety (it does not work):

[ID: Marius tells Enjolras "And we must think, Enjolras, how you can get away from Paris for some time." /end ID] Courfeyrac, a younger, clothes-focused revolutionary, and of course Gavroche:

[ID: Enjolras brings Courfeyrac, a younger revolutionary, "Courfeyrac, distribute them in the foyer of the opera and at the Jackie club." Courfeyrac responds: "But I can't go like this, I must change my clothes. " Enjolras: "Mm...Do as you will." Gavroche, a kid about 10-12ish, watches this conversation./end ID] and of course, everyone's favorite

tumblr's star of this show

GRANTAIRE!!!

[ID: Closeup on Grantaire! a short, loudly dressed... 65 year old man?? saying " I know by heart the whole Constitution of the Year 2 ! "/ end ID ]] I bet you do, 48! Grantaire! I bet you were there!

[ID: Grantaire brags that "I can talk about it for six consecutive hours. I've been timed. " while Gavroche prepares to burst a paper bag behind him. /end ID]

(Gavroche's relationship with this Grantaire so far delights me, in that it's mostly based on pranking him)

Were you ready?? I was not ready!!!

Anyway then the police break in and there's a SHOOTOUT and Marius escapes and runs through the streets of Paris and Cosette lets him into her and Valjean's house!! Marius flirts with Cosette by guessing that her favorite author is ANDRE CHENIER!! Valjean sends Marius some mixed messages by hiding him from the cops and then telling Marius to go away and then going to Marius' apartment to tell him to never try to see Cosette again and frankly,dude, a guy could think you were following him!

Oh yeah Marius' apartment is an inn run by the Thenardiers. Eponine is the general serving-girl there and he's just as conscious and careful of her feelings as he is in the book:

fckin OUCH

We also find out that Marius is living in the Thenardier's new inn on CREDIT?? Thenardier is just...bankrolling him?? WHY (this will not be explained so just forget it)

Marius goes to meet Cosette (whose dresses, in keeping with this show, are Pretty Darn Good!)

--and I have to say I think this show does a good job (so far!) with Valjean and Cosette's relationship! Yes, he's overprotective and keeps them too isolated-- but he does it out of concern rather than control, and she's not afraid of him, she trusts him and worries about hurting him, not being hurt by him, and he's always concerned for her safety and happiness above all. As she tells Marius in this scene, she never even noticed how isolated she was before-- she's been happy! I think they really get some of that Gothic haunted element around this house and Cosette's life , and it's great!

Marius leaves for the Revolution, telling Cosette to not worry for him (!) and Cosette goes inside and gets told there's a man waiting for her ??

[ID: Toussaint tells Cosette "He's in the hall, he was very insistent. He says his name is Baron Thenard." /end ID]

Thenardier tries to scam Cosette by pretending to be an old friend of her mom's

And it's actually a fantastic scene? Cosette reveals that she knows nothing of her past, and we can see how that's made her vulnerable; and we learn how desperate she is to learn more about the mother she can't remember.

I really like this move to make Thenardier Cosette's villain/nemesis, the haunt from her past! it makes so much sense , given...everything else up to this point...and gives her a chance for some excellent character moments!

Fortunately Valjean interrupts Thenardier's attempt to Scam Cosette! and then Valjean and Thenardier agree to meet at the Old Mill Thenardier Inn?!?

And then ..

ok what happens next should obviously be the Gorbeau Raid, except:

Marius has nothing to do with it. At all. Marius is not anywhere close to this, he's gone to join the Revolution, remember?

Eponine is not? there?

There is A LIGHTNING STORM for no reason?

VALJEAN HAS A GUN

the cops show up despite having absolutely no reason to??

I cannot usefully screencap this scene, its genius lies in its pacing, but also I am not sure how it's relevant anymore to the entire rest of the show! Kicking out Marius' Thenardier/ Napoleon issues kinda destroys half the relevance of the scene and Valjean and Thenardier already having acknowledged each other (and Thenardier knowing where he lives!) removes most of the rest. All we have left is FIGHT SCENE but then that's what this movie is about baby!!!

[ID: Valjean being embraced by the Patron Minette as they all try to avoid the police. No really, that's what's happening. /end ID]

I have no idea what's going to happen at the barricades! I am so excited!

[kangaroorpmemes]

desperate housewives out of context // season 5 based on this video x

“hi. I’m the whore that lives down the street. can I borrow a cup of condoms?”

“why don’t we just tell them the truth?”

“well, that should be long enough.”

“here.”

“kiss my ass.”

“you’re telling me you own a mug with bernadette peters in gypsy?”

“they said that my breasts were a triumph of german engineering.”

“if you don’t fire them I will cut you with these scissors.”

“so, I want a new style that says I’m not a giant turd of sin.”

“I got drunk on bourbon and threw up all over their lawn.”

“I hope you’re enjoying this party because you’re not living to see another one.”

“I’m sorry that I lied, the guilt has been tearing me apart.”

“you know what’s gonna tear me apart? a ten pound baby shooting outta my hoo-ha.”

“shitty bastard.”

“milk, bread, vodka, condoms...”

“there’s someone in my life who hits me with a dead squirrel every single day.”

“I’m not supposed to drink.”

“they’re not supposed to do tattoos in the kitchen but I have a tattoo on my ass that says otherwise.”

“it’s ten a.m, I don’t want to drink.”

“the hell is that?”

“oh, my water broke.”

“for gods sake we have to go to the hospital!”

“I’m trying to lock this job down.”

“I will have this baby right here and then beat you with it.”

“nothing worse than having old junk around.”

“you’re saying I’m worthless.”

“I’m not saying you’re worthless, I’m saying you’re worth less.”

“I’m having sex in the kitchen. where food’s prepared. what kind of demented slut would do that?”

“I’m busy, I don’t have time to explore my hypothetical career in the adult film industry.”

“we’ve had sex for 23 days straight, I’ve seen more ceiling than michelangelo.”

“you want some wine? we’re celebrating.”

“what’s the occasion?”

“you want to be a neanderthal, that’s your choice, but I prefer to behave with class and dignity.”

“I think it’s time we had a parent/child talk.”

“two of my friends involved in a nasty catfight? I live for that stuff.”

“you can dye that hair all you want but the grey’s just gonna keep coming.”

“you attacked my child and then me, why should I listen to you?”

“I brought booze.”

“come on in.”

“I take it you have an opinion?”

“you are such a nervous nelly.”

“SPERM!”

“happy birthday!”

“we going for drinks or mammograms?”

“congratulations, you’re now dating a lesbian.”

“see ya at the parade!”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“there’s an unfortunate coincidence.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“you don’t seem happy to see me.”

“the last time we spoke you called me a greedy bitch and I called you a scary old hag.”

“is that really you?”

“you know somebody else my age with a body like this?”

“I don’t know what twittering is.”

“we’ve been robbed!”

“it wasn’t me. I swear.”

“just because we’re thieves doesn’t mean we need to be untidy.”

“if you call me sweetie one more time, I’m going to grab this camera and take a picture of your colon.”

“shut it, bitch.”

“you might wanna pile on the makeup, drag queens get their first drink free.”

“where did that come from?”

“the man put chives in my parisian salad, he should be in a straight jacket.”

“halle-damn-lujah I got my period!”

“don’t worry, you’re gonna get through this. you’re gonna be just fine.”

[briamichellewrites]

4

Bruce was a storyteller. He had stories about growing up with his sister in New Jersey, his almost fifty-year career, and his kids: Brie, Jessica, Evan, and Sam. The band listened to him talk about dodging the Vietnam draft as a teenager. He hated the war and wasn’t going to go. They could listen to him for hours because he was so fascinating. He was also a proud father. Sam wanted to be a firefighter, Jess wanted to be a showjumper and Evan was interested in music.

Brie? What was she up to? She had an audition for a modeling agency. How did that go? It went well, even though she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. They laughed. She was waiting to hear back from them. Patti asked if she wanted to do modeling. She shrugged. Not really but a job was a job. It was also something to do during the day.

“What are you going to do after you get your inheritance?”

“I have no idea. Maybe go somewhere nice. I’ll take Mike with me. We can go to Jamaica or something.”

Inheritance? Yeah, she was going to inherit a million and a half dollars from her parents when she turned twenty-five. The stipulations were that she didn’t become a spoiled brat, and didn’t get pregnant while in high school – she had no idea where the hell that came from. They laughed. She also had to graduate high school, which she did. Bruce told her to get a job. If her parents cut her off, she should let him know so he could deal with them.

Dinner was delicious! She made a honey glazed ham with a French potato salad, a lemon parmesan salad, and beer or soda. Both Rob and Brad confirmed that both salads were vegan-friendly before she put them out. Since they and Chester didn’t drink alcohol, she bought a twelve-pack of soda while Patti bought the beer, since she was underage. The guys were satisfied and full!

Joe complimented her. They should make her the band’s chef. That could be her job. They laughed. Was anything French? Yes, the potato salad was French. Did she make a lot of French dishes? Not if it was just her. If she had people over, then she tried to make at least one thing that was French. She thought of making a Parisian chicken salad, but she thought that would be too much meat for the vegans. Rob thanked her for thinking of them.

After dinner, they got a tour of her apartment. They then sat down in the living room with their drinks. She had a great view of downtown Los Angeles! Her bookshelf had different CDs. The guys were interested in seeing what artists and bands she was listening to. She had Bruce Springsteen, the Spice Girls, Britney Spears, Rita Wilson, the Backstreet Boys, Taylor Swift, Bon Jovi, Patti Scialfa, and Linkin Park.

It was quite the collection. Patti remembered when she and Jessica used to dance around to the Spice Girls when they were younger. Joe noticed she had their first four albums. He pointed that out. Oh, yeah. She did. Hybrid Theory, Meteora, Reanimation, and Minutes to Midnight. Phoenix told her she should get the new album. She was going to do that, especially since Taylor Swift just came out with a new album that she wanted to get.

“I see where your priorities lie”, Rob joked.

They laughed. Patti and Bruce could see how well they treated their little girl. She had six guys with six unique personalities looking out for her as if she were their little sister. Mike also seemed like a respectable guy. He was a lot older than her, which they didn’t know if they liked. But they could have a private conversation about that later. At least he didn’t have tattoos.

After the other guys left, they sat down with Brie. No, they weren’t officially dating. They had gone on a couple of dates but he wasn’t officially her boyfriend. They were headed towards that. Has he been married? No. Does he have any kids? No. How old was he? He was thirty-three years old. Did she understand why they didn’t feel comfortable with their age difference? Yeah, but she didn’t see a problem with it.

Patti pointed out that there was an age difference between her and Bruce, five years but it was different because they were both adults. They wanted her to find a guy who was closer to her age, or at least in his twenties.

The next afternoon, she found Mike at the studio. He asked her what was wrong. It was Bruce and Patti. He guessed that they liked him but they thought he was too old for her. Yeah. What did she think? She didn’t care because she liked him. He treated her well every time they were together. The band was also like her family and she didn’t want to lose that.

He liked her, too. After some discussion, they decided not to go through with a relationship. When she got home, she started crying to herself because she thought he would be the one. He was heartbroken as well. Why did he do it? He didn’t know. It was probably because he was scared of Bruce. He was intimidating, just like a father waiting on the front porch for his daughter to return home from a date with a loaded shotgun next to him.

She respected him as a father. He and Patti were the only parents she had. Mike had to tell the boys the news that next morning. They were devastated for them. Why didn’t Bruce like him? He and his wife thought he was too old and it was inappropriate. Phoenix expressed sympathy. Thanks. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Okay.

Bruce had Brie record a demo because he and Patti knew she could sing. They went to a recording studio where they met with a producer. She introduced herself. He went through what was going to happen. Did she have a song she had written or picked out? Yeah, it was Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. He had her go to the piano. Once everything was set up, he pointed at her to start. Bruce sat quietly, though he watched with pride as she sang.

Well, I've been afraid of changing

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder, even children get older

And I'm getting older too

The producer played it back. He then turned around and looked at Bruce. Are you kidding me! He nodded. Yeah, she could sing! She just needed to believe that herself. Before they left, they got a copy of the song. He wished her luck. Thank you.

They took the demo to the band, where they were taking a much needed snack break. What’s going on? She had a surprise for them. Could she use the laptop? Brad told her to go for it. They were curious about what she was doing as she took out a CD and popped it in to the CD tray. They gathered around and then listened to the song and the person singing it.

“First off, what’s the song”, Brad asked after it was over.

“Landslide by Fleetwood Mac”, she answered.

“Second, that’s you singing? Who’s playing the piano?”

“That’s me. I’m playing and singing.”

“It was all her”, Bruce said proudly.

She had a great voice! Was she looking for a recording label? She was thinking about going into county music. Maybe county rock, like Lynyrd Skynyrd. What was the song she just did? That was folk rock. It was similar to country rock. She liked country and rock music, so she wanted to mix them together.

Brad was the A&R guy, so he offered her a contract. The guys told her to do it! Okay. They laughed. They would need to have an attorney go over the contract with her, so he would call her to set up a date to do that. That would be great! How was she doing? She was going to go home and take a ten hour nap. Maybe she would stop by and get another bottle of sparkling grape juice and try not to drink it while driving home. They laughed.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

[umichenginabroad]

Abhi in Paris

Week 0: Can I make it Paris? 🇫🇷

Hey everyone!

My name is Abhi, and I'm a junior majoring in Aerospace Engineering at Michigan. I'm super excited to be studying abroad in École Nationale Supérieure de l'Électronique et de ses Applications (ENSEA). It's a school focused on Computer Engineering, Electrical Engineering, and Computer Science in Cergy, France (about a 45 minute train ride from Paris). While I'm on this adventure, I'll be living in a small studio apartment in the heart of Paris' 1st Arrondissement. It's on Rue Saint-Honoré, a famous street mentioned in both Emily in Paris & Gossip Girl as a shopping & tourist destination :) I'm going to be about a 5 minute walk from the Musée du Louvre and Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris.

I can't wait to share this amazing journey of Paris, ENSEA, and travel all across Europe with everyone & am so thankful to University of Michigan's International Programs in Engineering Office for the opportunity!

Here's my goals for the trip:

See as MUCH as possible - Paris, Barcelona, Seville, Brussels, Amsterdam, London, Porto, Morocco, Berlin are all on my list :)

Immerse myself in French & European culture and understand the differences to what I'm used to in Michigan

Become proficient enough in French to engage in meaningful conversations in Paris

Just touched down in Paris, and I'm ready to share my adventures in Paris, ENSEA, and Europe. Let's rewind a bit to the beginning of this whirlwind!

Day 0: January 9th, 2024

Packing? Oh, the struggle was real. Classic move of starting the day before departure and realizing I had more stuff than suitcase space. After a serious optimization session with a food scale (who knew it would come in handy for luggage?), I barely made the 50-pound limit. Goodbye, toiletries and a chunk of my wardrobe – Paris, here I come!

Day 1: January 10th, 2024

The big day finally arrived! Quick dash to the airport, narrowly catching my flight, and oh, the joy of plane food. Detroit to Washington D.C., then off to the land of croissants and fashion.

Day 2: January 11th, 2024

After an 8-hour flight, I landed in Paris around 7 a.m. Navigating Charles De Gaulle Airport? Let's just say, it's a bit of a maze. A little broken French, some gesturing, and I finally found my way to the metro, heading to the 1st Arrondissement. The cold hit me like a truck – and I'm from Michigan! Got to my AirBNB, and surprise, the electricity was on the fritz. Had to choose between power and a hot shower – went with power and crashed for a much-needed nap.

I woke up to an amazing Parisian evening. I took a beautiful walk down the Seine River (the main river around which Paris is built) and a quick trip to France’s favorite grocery store Franprix. By the way, I was so surprised at the quality & taste of everything here. Literally everything tastes more natural.

Anyway, get ready for the ride, folks! I’ll be posting every week on my adventures here—a sneak peek, look out for Tour Eiffel & other cool Paris spots, my first week of classes at ENSEA, and a weekend trip to London :)  

À plus tard,

Abhi Athreya

Michigan Aerospace Engineering

ENSEA in Cergy, France