#I know it’s called Les Miserables for a reason

[xoxopuffsz]

idk this might be kinda too specific but like imagine the twst mc isn’t a prefect but a magic user aswell and they’re just some normal student in nrc but they keep using magic excessively and their magic pen is like so so dark and their housewarden s/o is like ‘you should stop’ and yhe mc is like ‘no’ so then the housewarden like fucks them for the whole day so they can stop using magic for the time being

—> minors dni. hardcore smut ig ? all chars aged up, all of them being absolutely meanies.

an - lets give this guy an applause 🗣️��️ I was running out of ideas and you saved me 🫶 I don’t have a bunch of time, so instead I’ll do Leona only since he seems like the right call. Its pretty long, sorry I couldn’t do more </3 ily tho ! buybyeee and enjoy !

———————————————————————

Pent up frustration that didn’t let him sleep, the fact that you look so tired and miserable because of your magic pisses him off. To him, he’s the one thats supposed to take care of you, for some reason he cares about you more than any other. Then he has an idea.

After a long day, Ruggie walks up to you, poking your shoulder with a cheeky grin. “Hey, Y/N! Leona wants you to go to the botanical garden with him.” He tells you, you raise an eyebrow “What for? He always tells me to leave when I go with him.” Ruggie shrugs. “I don’t know, but I think its something serious.” Upon those words, you decided to take care of it.

You leave to the botanical garden, where you find the hidden space Leona always resides in. In which, when you enter, he instantly jumps on you, pressing you onto the ground. “What the hell do you think your doing?” He says harshly. You’re stunned ‘Why is he acting like this?’ You never see him like this. You frown “If this is about the magic thing, forget about it.” You say, turning around, about to crawl away, when you feel him put his hand on your head, instantly pressing your head down onto the grass. “Le-Leona, what are you doing?!” You yell, startled as he covers your mouth. He looks down at you with an angry expression.

“I’m going to fuck some sense into you, thats what.”

——————————————

Your clothes on the floor, his hands spreading your legs open. Everything was so.. exciting.. He had ripped of your clothes and his clothes alongside that. The pool of warmth that was in the pit of your stomach had now traveled down to your legs, Leona’s precum covering your wet lips, tongue lapping over them.

Everything felt so warm, your juices soon covering his mouth, and then helping his rock hard cock slip into you, all your thoughts getting fucked out when his first thrust registers into your body, legs bent onto his shoulders and claws holding your thighs open.

“fuck— how are you- god damn it your so tight” he groans out, long hair stuck onto his sweaty face. He missed this, YOU missed this, the feeling of his hips rutting into yours, the way you’d feel full with his cock, as if you’d just eaten a full course of food. It was too fucking good, too good. Its like the both of you became two wild animals in heat, you couldn’t say much about him though, he was technically one with the way he was acting.

“Leo- Leona- Ngh.. stop it.. I have to.. give me my pen b-“ Your cut of by your own moan, the feeling of your pens cold magical stone pressing onto your clit, bundle of nerves causing your back to arch and a dam to open inside of you as Leona releases his own batch.

Your legs felt like as if they’d been liquified.. a little.. too.. liquified?

“leona..”

“Yeah?”

“You put a spell on me didn’t you?”

“Sure did, bunny.” He responds, kissing your forehead and covering your naked body with his blanket, leaving you to rest inside his room.

All the black ink was gone by the time he came back.

[love-ardour-anarchism]

As I am inching towards being 30 years of age I think I found some utmost truth that I will cling to for as long as I will live

I think that hope is like a fungus, its growing in the crevices of everything that I believe in

and I will hold it like Antonio Gramsci said: the only way that we can truly lose as revolutionaries, as progressives, as people who wish nothing more than for a better world is if we give up hope and I won't sugar coat this mess we're in but I will rise each morning and I will do the dishes and I will ask you what we can do today to be less miserable tomorrow

and I will hold it just the way that Terry Pratchett said, and he made Death the one who said it: I'd sieve the world to finest grain and I will show you molecules of mercy, I'll show you atoms of all of the good things I believe in and I will tell you that that kind of hope starts with the little lies that I choose to believe in cause I think he was right if I can make myself believe in what I say each saturday at our game night table then I can rise another day and I can do the laundry and ask you what we'll do today to make sure that our friends will have enough tomorrow; all capitalistic deprivation will be damned as long as we're together

and Ursula K. Le Guin wrote that any human power can be resisted by our human resistance. She wrote that all these systems of oppression that we've been living in won't always stay the same. That they are as unchangeable as was the right of kings to rule. They said that it was godly-given and yet it did not last. And in the spirit of the same I think that I am holding on to hope because to me its all that I can do. Le Guin wrote that resistance often starts in art and I feel called to that. And everytime that someone says that something that I wrote impacted them I know that I have reasons to hold on aplenty. And I won't act like all is bright and like there's plenty lights on the horizon that don't form mushroom clouds; and maybe all the world comes to an end in horror and in agony but I refuse to yield until that day is here. I still believe in better worlds, and I believe there's dishes to be done and friends to call and lovers' lips to kiss; once there is not then maybe I can have a look at apathy.

:SCRR

[csilla-nocturne]

Plotbunnies Collection Post!

Here is where I will post links to my plotbunies, and fics inspired by them! Also ALL BUNNIES ARE UP FOR ADOPTION! Please take as many as you want!

Tian Guan Ci Fu:

Ruoye recognizes Hua Cheng as Wu Ming

Calamity Xie Lian kills gods AU

Alternate fate switch AU

The one where I realize I'm bad at titling these, anyway Hua Cheng gets a collar and is very happy about it.

Probably one of the meanest things I've ever done to Yin Yu.

Jun Wu amnesia spell backfire AU

Modern AU where Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Hua Cheng learn to work together to make Qi Rong miserable.

Hualian ascend together at what was supposed to be Xie Lian's 3rd ascension.

Someone hands Hualian a baby.

Xie Lian recognizes Hua Cheng as Wu Ming, and has to avoid awkward conversations.

Modern AU paleontologist Xie Lian meets artist Hua Cheng.

Paradise Manor bed and Breakfast AU

Duel memory loss AU where Hualian drive Feng Xin, and Mu Qing crazy by being even more love sick than usual.

Feng Xin figures out Hua Cheng is traumatized, and gets kinda protective.

AU where Wulian run off together, and Feng Xin, and Mu Qing find the cave of 10,000 gods centuries later.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing find out Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are together because of the drinking game AU.

Hong-er's Mom stays as a ghost AU.

Modern AU Feng Xin, and Mu Qing find out Hualian are married travel bloggers.

Hualian babysit Guzi, and I'm mean to Qi Rong.

Qi Rong gets himself killed trying to murder Hong-er AU.

Xie Lian get severe traumatic memory loss from the temple incident, but Wu Ming is there to help AU.

Ghost kings are actually like royalty AU.

35 gods challenge AU.

Hua Cheng teaches the kids at Puqi Village all the games he was never allowed to play as a kid ;_;

Fairy AU.

Hua Cheng photography modern AU.

Hong-er is a fox spirit AU. Fanfiction based on this one:

the good prince and his fox spirit by good_vs_evo ❤️

Time travel AU

Omegaverse AU where Xie Lian is like a mantis shrimp but with his nose.

Hong-er gets adopted by Feng Xin's family AU.

Xian Le Quartet have to live through each other's memories curse.

Jun Wu's sword collection.

AU based on the Planet Crafter game.

Hualian meet early, because Xie Lian volunteers to be a human sacrifice AU.

Vampire Hunter AU

Modern Vampire AU

TGCF as SVSSS, but the MC is Jun Wu before Wuyong was destroyed.

The reason Fengqing know Xie Lian's cooking is so bad.

Xie Lian finds a tiny piece of Wu Ming's soul AU

Task Failed Successfully!

If the donghua had filler episodes.

Hua Cheng and Feng Xin keep running into each other looking for Xie Lian.

Sorcery AU.

Silly Xie Lian is never banished AU idea.

Wu Ming confesses to leaving the flower AU.

Any kinda rivalry AU really.

Modern Hualian reunion AU

Calamity Xie Lian doing revenge his way! AU

Xian Le Quartet, and silly curses.

Hua Cheng will die again of embarrassment this time.

"That little shit."

They tolerate each other! YAY!

Warning: Xian Le quartet poly NSFW

Xie Lian isn't banished after his 2nd ascension AU Fanfiction based on this one:

A Ghost to Call my Own by Soapy_Soartp ❤️

Modern AU Charity date auction.

Mu Qing finds Xie Lian doing laundry for him, and is not ok.

Xie Lian pregnant when he ascends the 3rd time AU.

Calamity Xie Lian and Wu Ming somehow take over heaven AU.

Documentaries of reality TV in the TGCF universe?

Sleeping Beauty Xie Lian AU?

Feng Xin-Ge agenda.

Mu Qing makes a discovery.

All of heaven: PLEASE GO BACK TO HATING EACH OTHER.

Modern AU date stalking.

E-Ming gets a human form

Xie Lian's Mom comes back post canon.

Virginity sword scene, but Hua Cheng already put a bun in that oven, and it's obvious.

Personal Assassin Hong-er AU.

I am mean to Feng Xin.

Modern AU Hua Cheng gets stuck with the worst wing men.

Animal Days! *Check the notes for yea-baiyi's adorable froggy drawing!*

Xie Lian kills the Reverend of Empty Words for the Shi brothers AU.

Personal servant Wu Ming AU.

Political hostage Prince Hua Cheng AU.

Go home Grandpa, your drunk.

Embarrassing parent Jun Wu.

Hua Lian soul bonding.

Modern ghost hunting AU.

Hualian baby.

Someone want to make a video game about the TGCF gods. Mu Qing has opinions.

I am mean to Feng Xin again.

Qi Rong is going to do some self reflecting whether he likes it or not.

The saddest one, featuring He Xuan.

Mo Dao Zu Shi

MDZS modern courtroom drama where cultivation is still a thing.

Reverse orphans AU.

Wei Wuxian, and his army of crows

Lan Zhan gets Wei Ying to come back to Gusu with him AU.

Wei Wuxian, camera man.

Jin Zixuan's date night plans go awry.

Crossovers:

MDZS/TGCF Hua Lian adopt Lan Huan, and Lan Zhan

MDZS/TGCF Lan Zhan drunk adventures, and the reason Lan Qiren retired from teaching.

MDZS/TGCF Hualian please save Mo Xuanyu!

MDZS/? Wei Wuxian in a zombie apocalypse.

MDZS/TGCF Please give me all the Hualian helping Song Lan with Xao Xingchen, and A-Qing's souls please.

MDZS/TGCF The Wens disturb He Xuan's vacation.

TGCF/Ranma 1/2

[lifes-line]

I talk a lil bit about religion and god (it’s about Kurt ofc god is in here)

THE WASTED POTENTIAL OF GAMBIT AND KURT HAVING A REAL IN DEBTH CONVERSATION ABOUT MUTATIONS, LIFE, LOVE, ANYTHING—

The two sides of the same coin-

Both being raised to believe they were demonic and evil but their different environments shaped them to become who they are today.

Kurt grew up in a church and he has his strong faith but also catholic guilt who believes church and Genosha to be a sanctuary because he cannot live amongst humans as a mutant because of his obvious mutation - many refer to him as a demon and he developed the superhero name “Nightcrawler” despite how many people fear him his belief that god created him for a reason and if god loved all of his creations then he is just perfect the way he is and unashamed of his appearance

Yet still grieves the idea of going out and joining the X-Men who live their lives amongst humans who may not know of their mutation.

And then you have Gambit whose mutation showed early with his red on black eyes - quite literally being called “Le Diable Blanc” which translate to the white devil. Much like Kurt he was compared to a demon for his mutant features, but his powers set in late.

Instead of growing up in a church where his mutant abilities and appearance were forgiven or celebrity he grew up where people took advantage of his appearance and skills for evil - becoming the reputation he was given at birth for worse. Gambit does not believe in god because why would god create him to be hated? Why would god let him be handed to the thieves guild and grow up in a dangerous and miserable life? Why would god create mutants to be hated?

Gambit finds Kurt’s beliefs to be false and “doesn’t know what he’s talking about”- because of the thief environment he grew up in lying and stealing and possibly killing others - Gambit does not have faith in a higher power, much less a good one.

While it is not ok to compare struggles,

Arguably Gambit is better off to live amongst humans and other mutants, as long as he wears sunglasses like Scott in public, he has a way to hide his mutation.

Kurt having experienced such slander but growing up in a better environment has learned forgiveness of others and does not judge them for god is the only one who can judge.

The conversations - more in debt - we could’ve had would have been AMAZING

We got a brief glimpse of what could have been in X Men 97 when Gambit refers to himself as a sinner undeserving of love because he’s condemned to keep making bad decisions

While Kurt actually denounces this, not by calling him a saint or a path of redemption, but by providing some hope that he will not be condemned to damnation for loving another.

“We don’t get no white-picket reward. Too busy for love. To busy sinning.”

“There is no love without sin”

[noxiatoxia]

hihi hihi sooo looks around... ur translation posts have made me wonder more about certain scenes across the game - specifically the ones featuring nagito. i seen the post where it's said that the translators just happened to throw in the word hope for no apparent reason and that really made meeeee curious........ so i was wondering, is this another example of a scene like that? it kinda felt clunky to read whenever i saw it but thought it was just a wording issue but now im wondering if this is a translator just pulling shit out their ass ^_^;;

Hi! So, let me write out my own TL and give some notes.

Komaeda: it's also just a very miserable display. It doesn't promote hope at all. It only serves to piss me off.

Calling it a "hopeless object" is a very direct translation. In theory, at least. The word 絶望的 (zetsubou teki) - which literally translates as "despairful" - is defined as meaning "hopeless" in most English dictionaries.

This is kind of why I advise NOT to use Japanese to English dictionaries if you can help it. They're fine if you want a basic translation, and are helpful springboards to get an idea of what a word means esp if you're a beginner in the language, but the fact is, giving one or two English words for a Japanese word rarely encompasses the meaning of said word.

So while Komaeda technically uses hopeless/despairful in his first sentence, the way "zetsubou teki" is used here means something along the lines of "miserable" or just devoid of positivity. It's a "win" point for the Japanese team because it happens to include the word "zetsubou" (despair) in it, and the word despair in Japanese is a lot more flexible than it is in English imo. But keeping it as "despair" or "hopeless" in English just to keep the brownie points of mentioning le funny despair/hope I think is a sort of inaccurate translation, even if it's "literal". I hope that makes sense.

As for "object", he literally DOES say "オブジェ" or "obujee" which of course is a shortened way to say "object". However again this sounds unnatural in English. Komaeda is simply saying "that thing over there sucks". "obujee" also carries the nuance of art pieces (google オブジェ and look at images) so I think changing it to "display" makes more sense than keeping it as "object" to keep the artsy nuance. Commonly English words are borrowed and used in Japanese, but they get transformed to have their own meaning over time and you can't reasonably rely on being like "oh, it's borrowing the word "object" so it must mean the same as the English word object."

Oh, and the reason I had him say "also" is because he's clearly responding to Tanaka in this scene, who says "This is yet an evil attempt to besmirch Koizumi even after death! We will be dragged under with her if we look it dead on!" <- translation from the Japanese text (I don't know what the official English makes him say...)

I don't know why the team didn't catch that Komaeda was adding on with "also". If it's a situation where translators were given specific characters to translate text from and didn't swap notes, I can see how the また would be interpreted as him emphasizing instead of saying "also".

Okay! On to the second bit!

"It doesn't belong in a hopeful place like this at all" this is pretty literal, but not wholly inaccurate. I don't know why but something in my brain is telling me the wording is off. Maybe it's him calling this a "hopeful place". 希望益れる場 means something like "a place that is of use to hope" so it's less that this "place" is hopeful itself but more so that it can be useful to hope...I don't know if that nuance means much to anyone, but I think it matters. Komaeda does talk about how hope is on this "very island" but never once says the island itself is hopeful.

The second part is a mistranslation of sorts. I think the translators mixed up 忌々しい with 忌まわしい because they're pretty similar (and because a lot of English dictionaries/online translation softwares will tell you they are the same). But 忌まわしい is the one that means malice, abhorrent, morally bad etc. 忌々しい (what Komaeda uses) is more subjective and is more akin to "annoying" or "irritating". It's basically going "this personally pisses me off".

Yeah, that's basically it. All in all this is basically the same quality as most of the official translations (sighs), no egregious outright mistranslations mostly but just a lot of fumbles on nuance and wording. Thank you for the ask!

[alsoamalthia]

Fandom question!

Have any Supa Strikas HCs going round?

*kicks the door open* I'M BACK!

Okay, first of all, anon, I opened this Ask when you sent me this but I held it there because I haven't really thought of any headcanons and it's only now that I got to gather some.

Most of these are basically just piggyback riding on other people's headcanons with a little addition of my own based on my observations.

Let's start with my fave headcanon.

1. Coach is divorced.

This is adding on to that one headcanon I saw that says Coach is going through a divorce and Rasta is the only one he told about it (I forgot who said this but if you're reading this, I hope you don't mind me hopping on to it).

My headcanon is the series started with him still married, and sometime in the middle of the series (around S3-S5), he's going through a divorce and by S6-S7, it has been settled.

The reason I hopped on to this headcanon is how in License to Coach(?), I noticed how his home wasn't designed for a single user. In addition to having a bed for two people (I design houses yet I do not know what it's called), there are some design choices in the house that doesn't look like they're made by Coach and looks like they're the design choice of another person. Well, at least that's based my own understanding of Coach and how I think he chooses his furnitures lol.

2. Big Bo was a top student.

So he has a library of books and it had been implied that he actually reads them. It's basically just that. He probably read encyclopedias for fun when he was a child.

3. Shakes was a theater kid.

Or he secretly is.

I haven't seen Rookie Season so I don't know if this is canon lol. Okay, so he can sing; this I know is canon. I think he secretly sings Santa Fe in the shower.

He auditioned for the role of Marius or Enjolras in their school's production of Les Miserables. He got accepted for the role of Marius but rehearsal schedules are conflicted with his football practice so he had to drop it.

4. Skarra once had a band in HS.

Again, I haven't seem RS so I don't know if this is canon.

I feel like he'd sing something Fall Out Boy or My Chemical Romance. I also want to think this is how he met Kat. Kat once sang with them. I know the canon first meeting was 'business reasons' but hey, you asked for headcanons and this is it for me.

[combeauferre]

and i cut my hair (because i'm worth it)

les miserables, rated t, 4.5k words

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says, standing. Enjolras and Combeferre turn to look at them. “You wanna do something stupid?” Enjolras’ anxious face piques in interest, and he smiles softly. “What d- do you have in mind?” Courfeyrac holds up the scissors. “You want your parents to see a son? Gotta start somewhere.”

read on ao3

21:45 – Sébastien: Can I please come over?

Courfeyrac looks up when their phone pings, and frowns. It’s not unusual for Enjolras to come to them for advice, to be cheered up, or for general gender-talk. But a plea to come over is a Combeferre text, surely. A best-friend-of-God-knows-how-many-years text.

Nevertheless, Courfeyrac will answer the call for aid. If this is a best-friend-of-six-months kind of text, they will be the best best-friend-of-six-months they can be.

Downstairs, their parents are still up, talking in rushed Italian over the phone to Courf’s eldest sister.

Vivina is still settling into life in Marseilles, still struggling to find friends, which continues to take Courf by surprise. Back home, she could charm anyone. And it’s not like their French is broken, it’s not like they can’t communicate. But the Marseilles accent is thick and difficult to understand without longer-than-natural pauses while the brain catches up, never mind other people trying to understand them through their own Ligurian accents.

Courf and their four sisters have collectively decided to blame their southern French-born father; somehow, despite living his whole childhood in the city, Frédéric never passed the accent on to his children.

On top of the language barrier, the bustle of Marseilles is so far removed from the everyday peacefulness of their grandparents’ farm and vineyard, even from the busiest parts of Genoa. Courf has to admit, it feels more foreign here than they expected it to. They feel foreign. 

But at least they’ve found Enjolras and Combeferre.

“Mamma!” Courf calls from their bed. From the room next to their own, a grumble to quiet down comes from Theresa.

“Jules?” their mother answers, walking to the bottom of the stairs. “Come where I can see you.”

Sighing, Courfeyrac hauls themself up off their bed and into the hallway, where they drape themself over the banister to look at their mother.

“Can Sébastien come over?”

She gives them a look.

“It’s a school night, Jules.”

“I know, but-”

“It’s almost time for bed.”

“Mamma, it’s urgent.”

She sighs and folds her arms.

“How urgent?”

Five minutes later and Courfeyrac’s best bullshitting attempts at a situation they know nothing about out the way, a text is sent back.

21:53 – Jules: come right over. what happened?

21:54 – Sébastien: I’m already on my way. Gabriel is coming over too.

No closer to understanding the situation at hand, Courf groans. They decide against going through the whole song and dance again to get Combeferre in the house. If the three of them are quick, their mother need never know.

Their great plan to smuggle both boys upstairs to their room is foiled by Geovana hovering by the door when the bell rings. Sheepishly, Courf opens the door to reveal Enjolras and Combeferre. The breath of a mother about to scold her child is cut short by the tearstains visible across Enjolras’ face, and Geovana is only human.

“Oddio! Come in, you two,” she says, hurriedly taking Enjolras by the hand and leading him inside. “Jules told me there was a bit of a situation, let me get you boys some tea, okay?”

Enjolras softens immediately and Courfeyrac understands. Under this roof, Enjolras is Sébastien. The de Courfeyracs have no intention of meeting the Enjolrases, so there is no reason to keep up the pretense of deadnaming their friend around Geovana and Frédéric; and Courfeyrac knows from personal experience how accepting their parents are of genders they do not understand.

The Combeferres, on the other hand, have known the Enjolrases for years. Under Ferre’s roof, Enjolras continues to be Noémie. The Combeferres adore Enjolras, but here, he can just be a man. And right now, it looks like that is exactly what he needs.

With weary eyes, Enjolras approaches Courfeyrac and all but falls into them. Courf's arms come up around him and hold him close, a thumb gently rubbing up and down his back.

"What happened?" they ask quietly.

"T-t-tell you in a." He pauses and takes a breath, fists scrunching around the back of Courfeyrac's shirt, forehead creasing against their neck. "In a bit."

"Okay."

Courfeyrac only has time to share one concerned look with Combeferre, one that tells them he doesn’t know what’s going on either, before Geovana is back in the hallway, gently pushing Enjolras' shoulder back so she can place a mug of tea in his hand.

"Th-thank you, Madame de Courfeyrac," Enjolras says quietly, avoiding her eyes as he focuses on getting each sound out right. No matter how many times Courf tells him Geovana would never judge him on his stammer, he continues on with short sentences that he can keep under control.

For her part, Geovana just smiles and squeezes his shoulder gently.

“You guys wanna come up to my room?” Courf asks their friends, dodging Geovana’s eyes in the hopes they’ll miss the lecture if they’re quick enough. Catching the hint, Enjolras and Combeferre turn and head right up the stairs, Courf hot on their heels.

"Jules," Geovana calls sternly after them. Of course, she knows every trick in their book. When Courf turns back, though, her face is soft. "If they're staying the night, you'd better have the air mattresses blown up before Theresa goes to sleep."

Courfeyrac still rolls their eyes.

"I know, Mamma."

She holds them in a firm stare a second longer, but says nothing more.

“I got most of that,” Combeferre says quietly as they climb the stairs, “but what was that she said about materassi gon…”

“Gonfiabili,” Courfeyrac finishes for him, laughing, “air mattresses, for you two to sleep on.”

“Oh,” he nods, smiling softly, “I’ll remember for next time.”

Learning Italian for school these last six months has become a way for Enjolras and Combeferre to impress Courf’s family, and Ferre is slowly on his way to twisting Courfeyrac’s arm into teaching him Italian, in exchange for obscure Marseillais slang. Maybe he’s not as good at persuading people as Enjolras is, but Courf is soft on him, anyway.

In the six months they've lived here, Geovana has been more accommodating to Courfeyrac's two new best friends than she ever was to their friends back home. Sometimes Courfeyrac wonders what their life would have been like if they'd stayed in Genoa, kept working on the vineyard, hung out with the same group of people at school that Geovana kept insisting were no good for him. Of course, she had been right, in the end.

Whatever she'd thought about them, she must feel the exact opposite towards Combeferre and Enjolras. Her no boys in the bedroom rule completely fell through after Enjolras came out to her and Courfeyrac had begged her to continue letting them have sleepovers, to be allowed to invite Combeferre to them as well, ready with their argument of, it doesn't even really make sense when I'm pansexual, does it, Mamma? And she had to admit, they had a point.

Combeferre is more sensible than any of the friends she'd had at that age, in any case, and she trusts them all together. They're smart, and they're good influences on Courfeyrac, and they care about each other. And who is Geovana to get in the way of that?

Closing the door on the rest of the house, Courfeyrac sits down on the bed next to Enjolras. Combeferre stands in the corner, leaning on the wardrobe, mug cupped in both hands.

"Tell us what happened?" Courf asks quietly, a hand coming to rest on Enjolras' knee.

He sighs.

"I-I-I-I just want to." The ‘t’ sound is hard, and lingers in his mouth. He pauses. "I want t-to be t-tr-trea-tr-” he takes a deep, frustrated breath, “To be normal." He puts his tea down forcefully on the bedside table and stands. "My parents ac-act like I- I can't do shit."

He takes a deep breath, then another, and pushes his thumb into his opposing palm.

"I tol-told them today that I joined th-the- the debate team." He sighs. "I- I was go-going to show them I can do it. I wanted to prove- prove th- them-” his hand twists, his nail replacing the pad of his thumb, “wanted to prove them wrong." Restlessly, he sits again, crosses his legs, uncrosses them. "I- I- I didn't e- ev- even get- didn’t even get th- that far.”

"What did they say?" Combeferre asks quietly. He's leaning forward, brow furrowed, jaw set. Courfeyrac's never met anyone so protective of their friend, as Combeferre is of Enjolras.

"They-they said I should h- have asked, and th-th- I need to- to get my voice under control first." He curls in on himself. “Never mind that- that my speech th- ther- therapist said it would be- be good for me.”

As much as Courf knows that seeing Enjolras in this light is a sign of their friendship and the trust they are slowly growing together, it is painful to watch. Larger than life, unapologetic Enjolras, making himself as small as he possibly can. Enjolras, who can stand on a stage and tear apart any opposing argument with no preparation, who just wants to please his parents.

“But you’re already doing so well,” Combeferre says, frowning. “If they just came and saw you – everyone says they’ve never seen anyone take an argument apart as thoroughly as you can.”

“I’m just-” he takes another deep breath, forehead creasing, “I’m ti- tired. Everyth- th- everything is such- such hard work.”

“They’ll come around,” Courfeyrac says gently, desperate to say something useful – although Enjolras’ eyes squeezing shut tells them it was the wrong thing to say, and they mentally kick themself for it.

“I- I’ve been waiting s- so- so long f- for- for that,” he says, voice raising slightly, words beginning to mangle together in his frustration, “I just em- embarrass them.”

“Are they going to make you leave the team?” Combeferre asks quietly.

Enjolras shrugs.

“St- stupid stammer jus- just- just gets in the way of all m- my shit,” he mutters. His nails dig into the flesh of his forearm, and Courfeyrac gently reaches over and twines their fingers together. They get a small, sad almost-smile in return.

“As long as- as long as I- I- I talk like th-this,” his voice wavers, the words getting more difficult to say as he gets worked up, every sound catching on his tongue, “They- they’ll never see me as someone who can- can- can get anywhere.”

“You’ll show them,” Combeferre says, sitting down on the other side of him. “Regardless of what they think, you’ll still be wiping the floor with everyone else.”

“But I want them- wan- want them t- to th- think- think I can do it!” Enjolras near-shouts, standing again, hand ripping away from Courfeyrac’s, coming up to tug at his hair. With every correction, his fist pulls tighter. “I want them to- to look at me, and… not see a disappoint- pointment.” He sighs. “I’ll al-always have a stammer, I- I- I’ll always be autistic… God knows what they- they’ll think of me wh- when they find out I’m trans too.”

Combeferre tentatively gets up and holds his arms out. Slowly, Enjolras retreats into them, folding around Combeferre the way he has for years. Courfeyrac hears a gentle, quiet, “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”

Something in their chest pulls every time they’re reminded of Enjolras and Ferre’s closeness, and of their own place as second-best. It doesn’t hurt often; they can live with it. But watching this – it’s private, and they’re a trespasser.

“I don’t wan- want to be their- their perfect little girl,” Enjolras says quietly, “It would be so easy, if that- that was what I- I wanted. But I want them to- to look at me and see their son. And th- they never- never will.”

Feeling helpless, Courfeyrac looks around the room, anywhere but at their friends. Their eyes fall on the old pair of scissors that sit on the dresser, and a sly smile creeps on to their face.

“Hey,” they say, standing. Enjolras and Combeferre turn to look at them. “You wanna do something stupid?”

Enjolras’ anxious face piques in interest, and he smiles softly.

“What d- do you have in mind?”

Courfeyrac holds up the scissors.

“You want your parents to see a son? Gotta start somewhere.” They raise an eyebrow at Enjolras, challenging him. He grins back, just like Courfeyrac knew he would.

Combeferre looks between them and shakes his head, half in fondness and half in desperation.

“You’re a terrible influence, Jules.”

Courfeyrac just smirks and shrugs.

“You love it.”

Giggling quietly, they make their way into the bathroom. Enjolras is first, immediately frowning and looking in the mirror. His hair is a point of pride for his parents, long and near-platinum blond. It’s only ever been trimmed to tidy it up, and it hangs down to his waist.

He hates it.

Courfeyrac is next, behind Enjolras, playing with his hair like they’re a stylist. Combeferre comes in last, a twisted, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. Enjolras might regret this, when he goes home to his parents tomorrow and they flip their shit. But the last thing he wants is to spoil this; Enjolras’ face is set and determined, and any kind of visible discomfort from Ferre could pull him back. He needs his friends’ support right now, to do something very minimal, and very brave.

“So,” Courfeyrac begins, still grinning, watching Enjolras in the mirror. His nerves have disappeared, and he grins back, a fierce glee in his eyes. “What would you like us do to?”

“I just-” he pauses, thinking about it a second. “Just get rid- rid of it.”

“Yeah?”

Courfeyrac looks at Combeferre for approval, and Combeferre shrugs and picks up the scissors. When he met Enjolras, he would never have agreed to something like this. He was the good kid, once, but he’s learnt a lot since then. He knows better.

“Just, start anywhere?” Ferre asks, reaching out and running his hand gently through Enjolras’ hair. He has to admit, it is beautiful – soft, luscious, and healthy.

Watching them now, Courf can only guess the amount of effort Enjolras takes to maintain it. It doesn’t suit him.

“Get it gone,” Enjolras says, nodding firmly. “Alth- though, may-maybe we can keep it,” his eyes drop from the mirror, and he looks at his hands. “I- I want to- to donate it.”  

Courfeyrac begins rummaging in the cupboard, and produces a hair tie.

“Let me?” they ask gently, stepping in to gather all of Enjolras’ long hair into one handful, tying it. “Like this.” They make a scissoring motion above the hair tie and look at Combeferre. “After that, I guess we just wing it, right?”

“Sounds good to me,” Combeferre says, “Don’t expect anything amazing from us though, Bas.”

“It- it’ll be amazing to- to have it gone,” Enjolras replies, finding his own eyes in the mirror. They are firm and sure. Courfeyrac thinks, in that moment, they’d probably trust Enjolras in anything, if he had that much surety in it.

It’s Combeferre who takes the scissors, holds them above the ponytail, gives Enjolras one more questioning glance. He receives a firm nod back, and grins.

The hacking through Enjolras’ hair that follows is far from glamorous. If only a hairdresser could see them now, those scissors would be taken away and never given back. The line is jagged and Enjolras hisses in pain a couple of times, but Combeferre persists.

“I think,” Courfeyrac says, folding their arms as they watch, “That maybe you should never become an executioner.”

Moving the scissors away from Enjolras’ hair, Combeferre gives them a look over his glasses.

“Well, there go my hopes and dreams,” he says, dryly.

Enjolras giggles in front of them, shaking his head.

“I- I- I really d- don’t know what we’d be- be with- without you, Jules,” he says fondly, looking up at them in the mirror. His words still struggle to form correctly, but right now, he doesn’t care. Courfeyrac beams back.

Combeferre turns back to Enjolras’ hair, and with a few more haphazard slashes of the scissors, the ponytail comes loose in his hand. Grinning, Combeferre passes it to Enjolras. He holds it gently, victoriously.

“Now what?” Courfeyrac asks. “My turn?”

Standing back, Combeferre folds his arms and inspects Enjolras’ hair.

“Should we watch a Youtube video, maybe?” he says, running his hands gently through the messy ends. “You know, so it… doesn’t look like we did it at home?”

Turning his head, Enjolras looks at his hair in the mirror and considers.

“I kin- kind of want it to- to look like we did it,” he says finally, turning around to properly look at his friends. “I want my parents- parents to know I- I came to you guys and we ju- just-  just sliced it off.”

Courfeyrac grins at him, before turning to Combeferre.

“May I?” they ask, holding out their hands for the scissors.

Combeferre’s answering smile is a shade Courfeyrac has never seen before, and it sends a thrill through them. Every day, they learn a new facet of their two best friends.

“Do your worst.”

“Well,” Enjolras says from below them, grinning, “Really, I- I- I could do with- with it being somewhat pre- presen- sentable.”

Courfeyrac places a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“I promise not to completely destroy your hair,” they say with as much sincerity as they can manage amidst their grin. In the mirror, Enjolras laughs, eyes flicking between meeting Courf’s own eyes, the hair on his head, and the hair in his hands.

“What do you think?” Courfeyrac says, running their fingers through the hair around Enjolras’ forehead, “do you want bangs? Side bangs?” they take a handful of hair on the left side of Enjolras’ head and pull it unceremoniously across his forehead. “Emo fringe?”

Laughing once more, Enjolras bats their hand away.

“No fringe,” he says, “I ac- act- actually kind of like my- my forehead.”

Before they can stop themself, Courf leans down and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Me too.”

From the side, Combeferre watches quietly. The Enjolras in front of him is so different from the Enjolras he met seven years ago. Small, ten-year-old Enjolras, who’d never had or needed a school friend, who he never saw smile, let alone at anyone else, who took weeks, months, to really understand that Combeferre was his friend.

And maybe he’s not so different; he still doesn’t give a shit what other people think, and as much as he values Combeferre and Courfeyrac deeply, he doesn’t feel the need to fill the gaps with more people. But here, he’s happy. He’s loose and starting to relax and he’s free, and Combeferre takes a moment to just drink that in.

“I should do that thing,” Courfeyrac says, pulling him from his thoughts, “you know, where hairdressers…” they trail off in favour of concentrating, pulling a section of hair through two flat fingers and haphazardly hacking at it on an angle. “Like that, right?”

Enjolras laughs and shrugs.

“I can’t- can’t act- actually see you,” he says, “but- but yes, sure.”

Courf continues on this way for a little while, quietly chipping away at sections of hair with no system, but somehow, the hair begins to take shape. Around the chair, piles of golden hair settle and Enjolras is yet to realise how much of it is clinging to his shirt.

“You know,” Courf says, after a while, “Your hair’s so pale, I bet you could dye it any colour you wanted.”

“Dyeing it might- might be a lit- little too far, th- th- thi- today,” Enjolras says, catching Courf’s eyes in the mirror once more, “but may- maybe another time.”

A knock on the bathroom door makes them all jolt and look around.

“Jules,” Geovana calls, “remember what I said about the air mattresses, it’s nearly eleven.”

Courfeyrac groans, rolling their eyes.

“What are you three doing in there, anyway?”

“Nothing!” they call back, too quickly. Combeferre sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s not entirely sure on what Geovana asked, but he can guess.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he says, “how mad is your mother going to be?”

“Probably, like…” they think about it a moment, “a six?”

“Right.” Sighing again, Combeferre opens the door slightly. “I’ll go sort the air mattresses.”

Geovana makes way for him to come out the bathroom and smiles at him gratefully. But when Courfeyrac tries to close it behind him, she catches the door.

Swallowing, Courf lets the door go, giving Geovana a sheepish smile.

“Hey, Mamma,” they say nervously.

She takes one look around the room and sighs.

“Jules,” she begins, now in French, “why do I feel like you three don’t have permission from Sébastien’s parents to be doing this?”

“It’s my h- hair,” Enjolras grumbles quietly.

Shaking her head, fighting the fond smile on her face, Geovana turns around.

“I saw nothing, understood?”

Behind her, Courfeyrac beams.

“Thank you, Mamma!”

She turns back, fixing them with another stern look.

“You’d better clear this up first thing tomorrow, before school,” she says, “and Sébastien, love, give me your shirt to wash when you’re done, okay? You can borrow something of Jules’ for tomorrow.”

The tension in Enjolras’ shoulders ebbs away.

“Thank- thank you, Madame de Courfeyrac,” he says quietly.

She shakes her head, this time letting the smile cross her face.

“One day, you’ll drop that formality,” she tells him, “You’ve been coming in this house long enough. All this ‘Madame de Courfeyrac’ makes me feel very old.”

Enjolras offers her a nervous smile by way of apology, and she turns around, softly closing the door behind her.

“That could’ve been worse, huh?” Courf laughs. Enjolras flashes them a nervous smile. “Anyway,” they continue, patting him on the shoulder, “what do you think so far?”

Enjolras lifts a hand, running his fingers through his hair. It still looks feminine, objectively, but as he ruffles it with his hand, it sends a thrill through him.

“I love it.”

Courf grins and wraps their arms around him.

“Good. Is there anything else you want me to do to it?”

Enjolras turns his head from side to side, considering.

“I th- think it-it’s perfect,” he says, smiling softly, “will your mamma be mad if- if I- I take a shower this- this late?”

Courf shakes their head.

“Not at all,” they say, kissing his forehead one more time. “I’ll grab you a towel and some fresh PJs, yeah?”

Nodding, Enjolras continues to look at himself in the mirror. Courfeyrac turns to leave.

“Jules?”

They turn back to look at him expectantly. He smiles, sincerity shining out from his eyes.

“Th- thank you.”

Courf smiles back widely, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Anything for you.”

In Courf’s bedroom, Combeferre has set up the two air mattresses and pushed them together. With some blankets that Geovana gave him, he’s made them look cozy and inviting, and Courfeyrac almost wishes they were going to be down there with Ferre and Enjolras, instead of in their own bed.

“Hey,” they say quietly, making their way to the bed. Combeferre smiles warmly.

“Hey yourself,” he says, settling down on one side of his makeshift double bed.

“Thanks, for helping us do that,” Courf says, looking at their hands, “I was kind of worried you were gonna tell us to stop.”

“So was I,” Ferre confesses, giving Courf an almost shy smile. Combeferre is one of the least shy people they’ve ever met. “I’m really glad we’re friends, Jules,” he says, after a beat, “you make us have more fun.”

Courfeyrac grins.

“Happy to be of service,” they say, giving a mock bow. Combeferre chuckles.

“Really, though,” he presses, “I think you complete us.”

It’s cheesy, but Courf knows exactly what he means.

They’ve never told Enjolras and Ferre what their friendship circle was like back home. They were a harsh, nasty group who Jules got swept into thanks to their close friend’s new, horrible boyfriend. Jules came out to the lot of them only a week before moving to Marseilles. It was left so late because they knew, in their heart of hearts, that it was going to be awful.

At best, they were met with comments about how all the cute girls end up being lesbians; at worst, it was a “don’t worry, we’ll help you grow out of it”, followed by a fist to the stomach and a spit in the face. They still remember the look on their best friend’s face, like she was helpless, like she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop. Like she was more shocked that her friend was queer, than that her partner would beat them to the ground for it.

Suddenly, correcting them all on not, in fact, being a lesbian, became the least of Jules’ worries.

They never told their parents; the bruises visible on their face and arms spoke for them. But leaving behind Chiara, their second-oldest sister and best friend in the world, had swiftly become unbearable. Clinging to each other in the moments before leaving, she promised to visit soon, and made them promise to come back as often as they could.

Chiara is yet to meet Enjolras and Combeferre, but Courf knows she’s going to adore them.

Enjolras emerges from the shower ten minutes later, hair short and shaggy and dripping, cozy in Courf’s warm pyjamas, beaming.

“You like it?” Courf asks, jumping up to take a closer look.

“I- I love it,” he confirms, letting Courf run their fingers through it. Ferre is right behind them, inspecting their handiwork. It’s far from professional; it couldn’t be clearer that two teenagers with no experience did it. But Enjolras is happier than either of them have ever seen him, and the rest fades away.

While Enjolras finishes towel drying his hair, Courfeyrac grabs the camera they’d gotten for their birthday last year. Before they moved to Marseilles, it had only taken a handful of photos of people, Courf instead using it for landscapes, the mountains, the vineyard as the sun set. Since meeting Enjolras and Combeferre, the camera has filled up with grinning faces, laughs, memories Courf will cling to for years.

Ferre sees them setting the timer and grins, tugging Enjolras down to sit on either side of Courf, where they are positioning the camera as best as they can.

“Ready?” they ask, looking at each of their friends. After two quick, excited nods, Courf clicks the trigger and gets into place, wrapping one arm around Enjolras’ shoulders and the other around Combeferre’s waist. The other two lean in, grinning, and the shutter clicks.

The photo is one of the first to go up in the shared Triumvirate flat, two years later, as they begin their first year of university. It takes pride of place, in between the first Triumvirate sleepover and their first outing as a four, when Enjolras introduced Courfeyrac to Jehan, a trip that left them close and crushing on each other.

Next will go the photo of Enjolras and his high school debate team, following regional championships, alongside one of Courf’s favourite photos of Enjolras, mid-debate, arm raised, hair a scruffy, untamed halo behind him.

There’s a solemnity to the photo wall, Courf thinks when he walks past it every day, of feelings and experiences and time gone by. But there’s nothing Courf would change about those experiences. And there’s plenty more space on the wall.

[psalm22-6]

I present to you Les Miserables was stolen!, a 2003 French comic which "recounts a fictional and dramatic episode in the life of Victor Hugo."

It begins with Victor's publisher Lacroix arriving in Guernesey, where Victor lives in exile, surveilled by agents of Napoleon III. Note that he has no beard.

Everyday Victor follows the same routine while he finishes writing Les Miserables. Hmm....

Tragedy strikes! He finds that his manuscript has been stolen! He rushes to Juliette Drouet's house and they discuss what could have happened.

Could it have been someone with a personal vendetta? Or Napoleon III's secret police trying to surpress a revolutionnary text? Victor decides his only solution is to go to Paris and try and track down the thief. 'No' says Juliette, 'you'll be arrested!' But Victor has a disguise.

Now with a beard, he heads to Paris where he enlists the help of his friends: Adele Hugo, Dumas, Lamartine, and Sainte-Beuve ("although he is my wife's lover, he is not necessarily my enemy").

He needs a place to stay that no one will suspect so he goes in search of a woman he once helped.

She is a sex worker named Fanny Fantin, the inspiration for the character Fantine -___- and she agrees to help him. A strange man comes around and starts asking for "Fantine." Victor concludes that whoever stole his manuscript, knowing that he had drawn inspiration from real life, is looking for "Fantine" in order to find him. (Don't think about the plot too hard.) Victor bribes Fanny's pimp to track down the man and Fanny lures him to her room where Victor is waiting. A struggle ensues.

Fanny kills the man, saving Victor but they lose their lead. What's more, her scream attracts the attention of the police. Victor tells her to follow him onto the roof so that they can escape.

As Fanny lays dying on the sidewalk, a gamin named P'tit Louis, who is friend of Fanny's, tells Victor to run but Victor cannot resist saying some final words to Fanny, who is surrounded by onlookers and police. He promises he will take care of her daughter. Her daughter? Yes. Victor was surprised to learn that she has a daughter who she had left in the care of a suspicious couple. Victor's words were so eloquent that as he walks away, something clicks in the mind of a police man, who had heard rumors that a certain author was in town.

wtf is he wearing!! Anyways, Victor runs away. He gets a tip from the pimp that Hetzel, his old publisher, might have been trying to buy the manuscript off the murdered man so he and Dumas investigate.

This is a dead end. They then go to retrieve Fanny's daughter, Sylvie. Victor pays off the couple who were keeping her.

Victor wonders where he and Sylvie can hide. He tells Dumas that he thinks the thief will continue to track him via the plot of his novel so he decides he will go to the Petit-Picpus convent to try and catch the thief. The Picpus convent is a real place where ten years earlier Victor had been allowed to study their customs. The mother superior is reluctant to let them stay but when Victor reminds her of the isolated gardener's shack, she agrees. However!

Who should arrive but Sainte-Beuve, asking if Victor is hiding there. The mother superior won't say anything. Sainte-Beuve tells her that Victor is wanted for murder (because of the man Fanny killed). The mother superior tells Sylvie to fetch Victor.

Victor wants to know how Sainte-Beuve knew where to find him. Sainte-Beuve says that Dumas told him, before leaving for Italy (that's it, Dumas isn't in the story anymore.) 'Hmm okay seems reasonable' says Victor. Sainte-Beuve leaves. 'That was curious,' says the mother superior. 'When he saw Sylvie, he called her Cosette!' Hmmm... Cut to P'tit Louis. The pimp, the Thenardier equivalent character and their gang have tracked Victor to the convent and they want P'tit Louis to help them rob Victor, to avenge Fanny. However, P'tit Louis remembers that Fanny had once told him that not all bourgeoise are bad, for example, there is Victor Hugo.

P'tit Louis tries to warn Victor but the nuns won't listen to him.

Meanwhile, the police also arrive in search of Victor.

P'tit Louis jumps the convent wall and helps Victor and Sylvie escape by the sewer. However, the gang is waiting for them there! P'tit Louis helps them escape the gang too.

Victor and Sylvie take a carriage to Adele's house. Victor sees Adele leaving to go to Sainte-Beuve's. Victor follows her there and bursts in.

Victor starts tearing Sainte-Beuve's house apart. 'I know you have my manuscript,' he says. Only the person who stole the manuscript would have known the name "Cosette."

Adele can't believe that it is true. Sainte-Beuve hangs his head in shame. Victor is looking all over but he can't find it until...he notices that Sylvie is shivering. That's strange...why is it so cold in here!?

In the stove, Victor finds his manuscript.

Sainte-Beuve explains that Victor had everything he wanted for himself and so he wanted to get revenge. He had tried to burn the manuscript but it was so beautiful, he could never bring himself to do it. 'It wasn't enough to have taken his wife?' asks Adele and she slaps him. At that moment, the police arrive and take Victor to jail. Meanwhile. . .

Napoleon III is informed of Victor's arrest but he orders that he be secretly returned to Guernesey to avoid a scandal. The police put Victor in a carriage. 'Where are we going,' asks Victor, 'why are we at Père-Lachaise?' They stop at a grave.

It's a tombstone for Fanny Fantin, the immortal Fantine of Les Miserables. Who could have done this? Sainte-Beuve emerges from the shadows. 'You can't image the disgust I have for myself. This tomb bears witness to a regret that will not leave me.' 'All men are condemned to live with their mistakes,' Victor tells him. To wrap up, Adele and Victor try to convince P'tit Louis to come back with them but he wants to stay in Paris. Adele tells him to live at her house. The police officer tells Victor that he is just doing his duty by kicking him out of the country, but that he can't wait to read his book.

Victor and Adele arrive back in Guernesey with the manuscript and Sylvie. Juliette is waiting for them. 'What happened? Who is this?' Juliette asks. 'I'll explain everything,' says Adele. 'Now embrace me.'

They embrace. 'Who would believe it?' asks Victor's friend. 'It's not me but the theft of my manuscript that has brought them together,' says Victor. He learns that Napoleon III has just granted him amnesty. which he of course refuses. Fin!

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Boulevard of Broken Dreams (Green Day)

My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me/My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beatin’/Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me/’Til then, I walk alone

“Much angst very 15 year old”

Poll runner: I have to concur... 15 year old me was a big fan

Bring Him Home (Les Miserables)

You can take/You can give/Let him be/Let him live/If I die/Let me die/Let him live

"Ok so this is sung by Jean Valjean after he joins the revolution. Fighting alongside him is this boy named Marius, who Valjean knows because he and his daughter, Cosette, are deeply in love. After the first attack on the barricade occurs and Marius’ best friend, Eponine, dies (by the way A Little Fall of Rain could totally go in here I’m just not as familiar), Valjean looks after the boy while he’s sleeping and prays to God that no matter what happens, even if he himself dies, Marius should live. He even calls him “the son I might have known if god had granted me a son.” Now this is super sweet and heartfelt and all and it’s a gorgeous song, but here’s the catch- it’s so superficial. At this point in the story, Valjean doesn’t even care for Marius. The only reason he wants Marius to survive the battle is so his dear Cosette can be happy. It’s such a beautiful song, but so frustrating. Also, it’s literally from The Miserables. Come on, guys."

Bring Him Home submitted by @determinedowl23

[winchesterszvonecek]

I See Red 18+

Chapter 8 - What The Hell’s a Dutch Baby?

Word Count: 5179

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

Two weeks had gone painfully by and yet Crowley still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Selina. Not a single text, call or even a summon had been fired his way by her. Or anyone bearing the surname Winchester for that matter. 

He was becoming antsy. Impatient. Scared that Selina might never be able to forgive him for the events that transpired between herself and Damien, who Crowley still wished he’d killed slowly as it was his fault all this was happening in the first place. Had that complete and utter moron not gone and kidnapped Claire, who was basically Selina’s little sister, then maybe Crowley wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks sulking around his palace, miserable and on the verge of insanity. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have been left stewing in the false hope that perhaps his days were off and he was still inside that two week wheelhouse that Alex had mentioned. Of course, he knew his calendar was correct. After all, he was punctual like that, but still, you can’t fault a guy for dreaming now can you?

Crowley was just hanging onto the hope that perhaps it would take Selina just a little while longer to decide to talk to him again given that the situation hadn’t involved only her. That maybe because Claire had been involved, that the situation had fallen higher on the ladder and deserved a lengthier punishment than Sam not looking for her in Purgatory did. 

Chances are Claire was the reasoning behind the entire silent treatment he was receiving as something told Crowely that Selina wouldn’t have even been phased, let alone angry enough to freeze him out had Damien only kidnapped her. 

If that had been the case then nothing would have changed between the two of them at all. It would still be drinks, near kisses and texts all round like it had once been. Unfortunately for him though, that wasn’t the case. Therefore he hadn’t heard a single peep from Selina since that fateful day and to tell the truth… Crowley wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could keep going like this.

Even his subjects had started to notice he wasn’t his usual self. Hard not to when they’d be in the middle of trials and punishments, the latter being a personal favourite of the King, and yet Crowley would zone out completely, appearing like he’d rather be anywhere else but there. 

Obviously they didn't know exactly why he was so out of it these days, although they had an inkling, but they were hoping that whatever it was would sort itself out eventually. They couldn’t believe they were thinking this but they actually missed the old Crowley, even if he did use them as dartboards as at least that way he wasn’t slouched on his throne, frowning and with his eyes glued to his phone like a teenager instead of doing his job.

“Sir?” Guthrie’s slightly confused voice seemed to snap Crowley out of wallowing in his own self pity. The King’s head slowly lifted from his phone as his brow furrowed a little in question, to which Guthrie replied with, “The trial, sir.”

Following the brief cock of Guthrie’s head, Crowley’s tired gaze came to land on the row of demons patiently awaiting their sentencing. For crimes they swore up and down they didn’t commit and to be honest, some of them probably were innocent but this was Hell-related after all, so they can’t exactly expect a fair trial. Sighing, Crowley beckoned the next fear riddled demon forth, holding out his hand that was soon met with a clipboard.

Another sigh escaped Crowley’s lips, his eyes falling to the parchment in his hand as he brought it towards him, flicking briefly through the vast amount of pages. He began to read, or more so skim, over the unnecessarily small writing that riddled them, telling him in excruciating and over-complicated detail exactly what the demon before him was being accused of. 

Truth be told, Crowley’s mind wasn’t taking in a single word of what was in front of him. Unless it was a letter written to him by Selina, one telling him that all was forgiven and that she was ready to talk to him again, then he simply didn’t care what the contents were about. Fed up already, he flipped the pages all the way back to the first one, tossing it aside and finding a touch of satisfaction when it clattered against the floor and was no longer his problem.

“You’re guilty of… Something.” Crowley began, waving his hand lazily in the air as he was too un-bothered to care about coming up with a proper crime. “Which I won’t tolerate… Whatever it was… Your sentence is death.” He said happily, motioning for his guards to take the accused away and once they did so he turned to the other occupants in the room, adding sternly, “The rest of you, get out.”

Those left in the throne room were gone mere seconds after the words left Crowley’s lips, not wishing to face the fierce wrath of the King. Certainly not whilst he was like this, all surly and unpredictable. Last time that happened he ended up feeding the demons to his hound, who had now developed quite a taste for demon blood so forgive them for being wary.

The only one who remained in the room was Guthrie, who was slightly less afraid than the others as he was Crowley’s right hand man after all. Although, that didn’t mean he was exempt from becoming Juliette’s chew toy and so he approached the throne with minor trepidation. 

“Sir, if I may.” Guthrie began, backing up a touch when Crowley stood from his throne and stepped down as he half expected an angel blade to the chest for lingering. Only to his surprise, Crowley simply walked past him and beelined for the drink’s cart, beckoning with his hand for the demon to carry on. “There have been rumours floating around the asylum recently, sir.”

“Rumours?” Crowley repeated, arching an eyebrow as he poured himself a hefty drink. 

“About your majesty and… Selina Winchester.” Guthrie replied carefully, not daring to make eye contact. 

The second the words escaped into the air Crowley’s grasp tightened on his glass, his knuckles quickly turning white with how hard he held it and he was surprised it hadn’t shattered in his hand. He sucked in a breath, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth as he closed his eyes, needing a second to prepare himself for what he was about to hear.

Opening his eyes, Crowley took a long sip of his scotch before repeating in question, “Myself and Selina Winchester?”

“Yes sir.”

“And what, precisely, do these rumours say about us?” Crowley turned, eyebrow raising again as he tried his best to act casual. When in reality his heart was racing and for once his palm grew sweaty. So sweaty, in fact, that he could feel his glass fighting to slip from his hold. 

“For starters, there's the texting… Something that’s been noticed even by those of simple minds.” Guthrie said, hearing a faint huff of amusement coming from Crowley. “Secondly, there’s Arman, sir, who has been rather vocal about the fact that he witnessed you saving Miss Winchester from a human attacker… That you seemed almost concerned about her wellbeing and that you sent her attacker to Hell… Personally.”

“Hmm.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed, tongue running over his bottom lip as he made a mental note to have Arman killed. Painfully. 

“Not to mention Damien. Who appears to have gone missing after reporting in that he’d kidnapped Miss Winchester. Along with another young hunter girl.” At that Crowley couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking red and the way his features tightened out of anger was enough to make Guthrie recoil out of fear. He quickly bowed his head, stammering out in order to save himself, “But like I said, sire… Rumours.” 

“Exactly.” Crowley’s eyes returned to their normal shade and he took a breath, that usual cocky grin of his rising slowly on his lips as he made things abundantly clear with just one word. “Rumours.”

Crowley was quick to leave the room afterwards, doing nothing but staring down at the darkened liquid of his refilled drink as it swirled in his glass with each step he took, slowly making his way through the stone halls of his asylum. He wasn’t overly worried about these so-called rumours, not really anyway. 

Demons always did have a tendency to gossip amongst themselves as a way to stave off boredom and even if the rumours reached other ears, hunter ears to be exact, nobody in their right mind would ever believe them. Why would they? 

Who would be stupid enough to believe a demon spread rumour about Selina Winchester being best friends with the King of Hell? 

Nobody, that’s who. 

Nobody, whether they be a hunter, angel or even other demons would ever believe such a tale as given Selina’s history, she’d made it perfectly clear how she felt about all demon kind. Just ask Azazel or Ruby… Oh wait, you can’t, because she killed them. 

Crowley himself may have been a special case but even he knew Selina hated demons. With a passion. 

Everybody knew it. Therefore he didn’t have much to worry about in terms of her safety as even should someone try to take her out, whether it be another hunter who assumed she was compromised or perhaps a rogue demon who accused her of poisoning the mind of the King, they wouldn’t stand a chance against her and that much Crowley knew for sure.   

In another part of the country, in a town only about an eight hour drive away from Crowley’s asylum, Selina and her brothers were in the middle of what would end up being a rather crazy case. One that was about to start when they rolled slowly into the parking lot of a local diner and pulled up beside a rather familiar looking logo. 

“God, I hate these guys.” Dean grumbled, shutting off the engine and taking a second to fully psych himself up for what he was about to endure.

“Oh come on, they’re fun.” Selina chuckled, patting Dean on the shoulder and hopping out of the car, surprising both of her brothers as lately she’d been downright miserable.

Like seriously, it had taken a hell of a lot longer than it should have to drag her out of bed this morning. Not even Sam’s famous chocolate chip pancakes could have enticed her and had it not been for Selina’s need to pee, she might have still been hidden under her covers, refusing to talk to anyone. 

To make things worse, she hadn’t even seemed interested in this case when Dean told her about it. She hadn’t even batted an eye at the strange crime scene photo and had it not been for Sam physically pulling her out of her room then she wouldn’t be here. Although now that she was, Selina was kind of glad she’d tagged along as not only did she need this, but she’d also kind of missed the owners of the white van parked next to them. 

A van with only a single word painted on the side… Ghostfacers. 

“You’re only saying that because they both think you’re hot.” Dean mumbled, his lips scrunching up a little at even having to say that. Just because his sister would be considered conventionally attractive, didn’t mean he’d like to think about it, thank you very much.

“I am hot.” Selina replied plainly, and with a cocky smile which had Dean roll his eyes as they headed towards the entrance of the diner. 

The bell above the door dinged faintly as they entered, their noses greeted with the mouthwatering smell of food and reminding Selina she hadn’t eaten yet. It was relatively quiet inside, it being just a little before the lunch rush which meant this conversation would go a whole lot easier as they didn’t have to worry about eavesdropping ears. 

It was never fun explaining to those unfortunate enough to overhear their supernatural related talks. Most of the time they just pretended they were writing a book as it was much simpler that way.

“No way.” Selina breathed out, coming to a stop next to a lonesome sign that stood just inside the door. “They make Dutch babies here… Let’s order one.”

“What the hell’s a Dutch baby?” Sam asked, his brow a little furrowed as he glanced towards the poster. 

“About two thousand dollars less than an American baby.” Dean replied wittly, grinning at his own joke which only had Sam frown in response. 

At least Selina found it funny, Dean thought to himself. And honestly, he was glad she did as he hadn’t even seen her smile since she got back from Jody’s let alone laugh at something. She was still taking what happened to Claire rather hard on herself so any chance he’d get to cheer her up, he’d happily take it. Especially if it meant aggravating Sam in the process. 

“It’s their world famous high-rise pancake.” Selina informed them, speaking as though it was obvious by the name. Which it was. For some anyway. 

Clearly not Sam though as he still looked a little confused. However, not confused enough to point out how long they took to cook. 

“Cat, it says it takes twenty-five minutes.” He tapped his knuckles lightly against the sign, casting his gaze back towards his sister. “Have you forgotten that we’re on a case?”

“I don’t care.” Selina replied, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m still reeling from being kidnapped… Not to mention I’m currently bleeding from my-”

“Okay, okay. You don’t need to say it. We get it.” Sam held up one hand, silencing her before she said anything that might scar him for life.

“Oh grow up, will you?” Selina muttered with a roll of her eyes. She’d never understand men and their disgust for periods. Sam and Dean especially as they’d experienced far worse over the years than a little bleeding.

They’d literally been to Hell for crying out loud but God forbid Selina ask them to buy her a box of tampons or mention she had cramps.

“It’s just a vagina. We’ve all seen one.” She added, for good measure as they really needed to get over themselves. 

“Well, Sam hasn’t. He’s still a virgin, remember.” Dean happily pointed out, making Sam frown more than he already was and even his eyebrows seemed to fall with it.

“Right, from the chastity group thing.” Selina chuckled, shaking her head a little. “That’s unfortunate… It's been a while, Sam. You want me to help you find someone?” She glanced up at him, rolling her lips and finding clear amusement in his blank expression. 

“Can you both focus? We’re working.” Sam said bluntly, a soft sigh escaping his lips when all Dean and Selina did was snicker in response. 

Maybe Crowley had been right that day in the car, maybe Selina wasn’t his twin after all as she was far too similar to Dean than she was him.

“Okay, jeez, relax you big virgin.” Selina teased, giving Sam a playful tap on the arm. “We can work and order a Dutch baby at the same time.”

“Fine, you order your baby, Dean and I will go talk to these two idiots.” Sam replied, about to spin on his heels before Selina spoke again.

“Oh, is there a mirror in here?” She joked, this time making both Sam and Dean frown. She rolled her eyes, exhaling tiredly, “I’m kidding. God, you’re both so stiff it’s hard to believe we’re related.”

“Let’s just go.” Sam nudged Dean, cocking his head towards the table where he’d spotted their old friends. Or acquaintances rather? Whatever they were, they were a pain in their ass.

“Hey, order me one too.” Dean whispered towards Selina before he was dragged away by Sam. She flashed him a thumbs up, making a happy grin rise on his face. 

Only that grin quickly fell when the two of them collapsed into the booth next to their two least favourite people, Ed and Harry. Both of whom looked equally as amused to see Winchesters as they did to see them. 

“Ah, the Winchesters... Yay.” Harry muttered, equally as fed up as he was sarcastic.

“Says nobody.” Ed carried on. 

“Ever.” Harry finished, rolling his eyes a little before Selina approached, slamming a chair down at the end of the table which had both himself and Ed jump in their skin. 

“Hey boys.” Selina smiled, clearly pretending to flirt with them as she spun her chair around and straddled it, noticing the drastic change in behaviours the two boys seemed to exhibit over her appearance.

“H-Hey, Cat. Nice to… To see you again.” Harry stammered out, doing his best not to look her directly in the eyes. 

“You changed your hair…” Ed pointed out, ignoring the furrowed eyebrows being fired his way by Sam and Dean. “Looks… Looks good.”

“All right, keep it in your pants.” Dean muttered, fed up already as it was bad enough just running into them, he didn’t need them both drooling over his sister too.

“What… I don’t…”

“Just up and listen, both of you. This is how it's gonna go.” Dean carried on, banging his fist on the table a little before pointing at them. “You two clowns are gonna get into that mystery machine outside and you’re gonna leave town… Or I’m gonna put holes in your knees.”

“Okay, first of all… You guys don’t scare us.” Harry said bravely, gesturing only between Sam and Dean as despite how attractive he found Selina, he was rather scared of her. 

Last time they’d been together, locked in that Morton House, she proved just how scary she could be so the last thing he wanted was to provoke her. Dean might not make good on his word of putting holes in their knees, but Selina would, that much he was certain of. 

“Not at all.” Ed added, trying his best to act cool when in reality, he was a tiny bit scared. 

Lifting his shirt to reveal a gun tucked into his waistband Harry carried on, “Say hola to my little pistola.”

"Am I supposed to be impressed with that treasure trail or the lady gun you got hiding in your pants there?" Dean asked, pointing briefly towards the world's smallest gun. 

“Uh… Both?” Harry hesitated, brows knitted together as that had sounded more like a question than a statement. His face relaxed, his shirt dropping as he unconvincingly shrugged, “Mainly the gun.”

“Hmm, I think mine is bigger.” Selina teased, lifting her own shirt to reveal not only the much bigger gun she had tucked in her own waistband, but the bottom of her bra too. 

Obviously she hadn’t meant to show it. She’d just pulled her t-shirt up a little too high but it seemed to only add to the impact as it appeared as though the boys were practically whimpering to themselves and she couldn’t help but think that was the only bra they’d ever seen on a woman.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Sam interrupted, motioning for Selina to lower her t-shirt. “Maybe you should go and wait outside.”

“Yeah, before these two melt into a puddle of ectoplasm.” Dean added, a soft scoff leaving the back of his throat as he looked over at the dazed boys.

“Fine.” Selina stood up, lifting her chair and placing it back under the table she got it from. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the eyes of the obviously disappointed Ghostfacers and adding, “See you boys around… And as for you two, don’t forget my Dutch baby.” 

“We won’t.” Sam and Dean called after her in unison, knowing better than to forget anything food related when it came to Selina as she was worse than Dean when it came to pie.

Satisfied, Selina left, allowing her brothers to do whatever it was they’d come here to do as honestly she hadn’t been listening to them. The entire car ride here she’d been scrolling through her phone. More specifically her text thread with Crowley, which had been mostly one sided as she’d yet to respond to any of his messages.

He’d given up trying to call her as she only declined it the second his name flashed on her screen. So instead he’d restored to texting her a few times a week to see if she was ready to talk to him again. To be honest, Selina didn’t even know if she was ready or if she ever would be , hence the fact that she’d straight up ignored each message no matter how hard it was for her to do so.

With a sigh, she locked her phone and tucked it back into her pocket after making note of the time as she was rather looking forward to her Dutch baby and was counting down the minutes to when she could eat it. Selina leaned back, hearing the slight squeak of the leather of her jacket against the car door as she glanced up at the sky, wondering at what point in her life had things gotten so damn complicated that she felt bad for ignoring a demon.

She knew it was the trials. That the last one had bonded her and Crowley in a way she never would have expected it to, but she didn’t like thinking about that day. Not when she only ended up remembering what Crowley had confessed to her and how badly she wanted to be able to give it to him. 

Meow. Saved by the cat, thank God. 

Selina’s head cocked to the side a little, her eyes soon spotting the small, black cat that was strolling towards her. She couldn’t help but smile a little, crouching down and holding out her hand as the cat approached her cautiously. It sniffed at her fingertips, eyeing her carefully and when it came to realise she wasn’t a threat, it happily allowed her to pet it. 

“Aren’t you such a cutie?” Selina cooed, trailing her fingers along the cat’s back as it brushed up against her, purring softly and in a way that made her feel all warm inside as she always did like when animals took a liking to her. Cats especially.

If she had it her way, there would be a cat running around the bunker but unfortunately her brothers were absolutely no fun at all and therefore wouldn’t allow it, making herself and Castiel rather disappointed. 

“The cat seems to like you… No surprise there.” 

Two weeks was a long time for Selina to have gone without hearing that utterly smooth voice, meaning she was unable to stop the intense shiver from running up her spine and having her entire body shudder in response. She glanced to her side, spotting Crowley’s signature black suit as he made his way closer, every step only accelerating her otherwise calm breathing.

Selina’s eyes moved slowly up the length of his body and she swallowed thickly the closer she got to his face, the one she hadn’t been able to get out of her head no matter how angry she was with him. The second her gaze locked onto his, she was practically done for, her heart hammering furiously beneath her enochian carved ribs and for a second, she played about with the idea of throwing herself at him. 

“Hello Selina.” Crowley added, deepening his voice purposely as he could almost sense the way Selina was feeling about him. He took one step forward, only to stop instantly when the cat she had been petting hissed at him before scarpering away.

Now annoyed, Selina sighed then muttered, “Did you have to do that?”

She was unable to help the slight scowl that flashed across her face as she straightened, folding her arms over her chest. She did her best to avoid making more unnecessary eye contact now that she was face to face with him, should she roll over and submit to his every need and desire.

“Apologies.” Crowley replied, edging his way closer to her as she leaned back against the Impala, still opting not to look directly at him again. But he had hope. After all, she did talk to him. 

“What do you want?” Selina asked, a soft sigh leaving her lips as nothing but the sound of gravel crunching beneath Crowley’s feet met her ears in response. 

A moment went by and still silence. For a second Selina thought he might have left due to her attitude, until the gap between them closed a lot more than she would have expected it to. She felt Crowley’s finger hook gently beneath her chin, slowly raising her face to meet his. 

“For starters, for you to look at me for longer than five seconds.” He began, watching as Selina’s lips pressed together into a tight line, almost apologetically. And when she didn’t drop her gaze after more than those five seconds, he began to feel hope spark beneath his chest. 

“There.” Selina breathed out, her heart hammering even harder against her ribcage at just how close he was to her. That still wasn’t enough to make her fully forgive him though, which may have been why her tone seemed so hostile when she next spoke. “I’ve looked at you. Now what do you want? ”

“Selina, don’t be like that.” Crowley said softly, opening the hand still beneath her chin to land lightly aside her face, watching the way her eyelids slowly fluttered and for a split second, her lips curled upwards. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” 

Wrong choice of words Crowley thought to himself, as the second they crossed his tongue and escaped into the air Selina’s face dropped beneath his touch. She raised her hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his wrist and pulling his own away from her face, all but throwing it back at him as she moved away from the car and out of his intoxicating personal space. 

“Because that makes it so much better.” Selina scoffed as she turned away from him, not finding herself able to look at him for another second. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that Claire and Alex could have been killed, all because��you don’t know how to keep your demons in check.” 

“I know.” Crowley said softly, choosing to be patient as Selina was far, far more stubborn than he ever was. He edged his way closer to her, reaching out and lightly ghosting his hand over her shoulder, a spark of relief igniting within when she seemed to relax under his touch rather than tense up. “But I truly am sorry, Selina.” 

Crowley’s hand landed properly on her shoulder, a soft sigh meeting his ears after it escaped from Selina’s lips. She turned her head, eyes flowing up from the warmth of his hand to meet his, the honesty behind them making it all the more difficult for her to stay mad at him. She knew how hard it was for Crowley to admit fault let alone apologise for anything, only adding to the confirmation that he really had changed. 

“And I promise you…” He began, his touch slowly working its way up the length of her neck. He gently cradled one side, running his thumb along the almost faded bruise on her jawline, all while his eyes never once left hers. “For as long as Hell follows me, it will never happen again.” 

“It better not.” Selina whispered, her breath hitching a little as this was all so much for her to take in at one time. 

The gentleness of his touch. The softness of his words. Not to mention the look in his eyes, the one so filled with care and adoration that it had her unable to fully believe he was the same demon who had once tried to kill her. It was overwhelming to tell the truth, and for once she was praying that her brothers would show their faces and scare Crowley off as she didn’t know how much resistance she had left in her. 

“You have my word, darling.” Crowley said, continuing to draw light circles over her skin with his thumb. And for his own sake he ignored the rapidness of her pulse against his palm as chances are her heart was beating fast for entirely different reasons and not because of him. “And you know I always keep those.” 

It was true, he did always keep his word which is why Selina simply nodded her head once in response, her lips twitching upwards just enough to allow Crowley to let out the breath he’d been holding since the moment he showed up. 

She’d forgiven him. 

“I’ll do what I can to make it up to you.” Crowley added, for good measure as it couldn't hurt to offer her more in terms of an apology. 

“Just keep your demons away from my girls and we’ll call it square.” Selina breathed out, doing her best to ignore the way her hand twitched out of eagerness to touch him. “They’ve been through enough.” 

“You have my word that I’ll try my best.” Crowley replied, unable to fully promise her that he would as he couldn’t control every single demon on earth. “But you know as well as I do, there are unruly demons still out there.” 

“That’s okay… As long as they aren’t yours, then we won’t have a problem.” Selina said assuringly, offering him a warm smile which all but had his heart want to leap from his chest. 

Once again their bodies seemed to involuntarily lean forward, as though they were magnetic and unable to stop themselves from connecting. Their eyes found one another and they both knew what was about to happen, yet neither of them did anything to try and stop it. They wanted this, more than anything did they want this to happen but unfortunately for them, the universe was, once again, not on their side. 

“I’m just saying, the sign said they take twenty-five minutes. Ours came out in twenty. That makes it preemie.” 

“It’s a pancake, Dean. Not a real baby.” 

The sound of her brother's nearing voices had Selina step abruptly away from Crowley, despite how hard it was to move her legs away from the gravitational pull they seemed to have towards one another. Not that it mattered as in the blink of an eye Crowley was gone, leaving her to do nothing but think… What if?

What if life didn’t keep getting in the way? Would she kiss Crowley? Or would her conscience get the better of her and stop her because deep down, she knew it was wrong? Selina wasn’t overly sure, but she was sure she’d find out next time as you know what they say… Third time’s the charm.

Chapter 9 ->

[renadactyl]

Introduction!

Hello! You can call me Ren or William and I go by he/they/it pronouns. I’m quite new to Tumblr so I do apologize for any mistakes I may make along the way while I get to know this social media. I’m a multi-fandom fanfiction author, and I’m always open to certain requests! Here’s some more about me so you know what fandoms I write for and what I will and won’t write:

Fandoms I’ll Write For

ANIME:

Moriarty the Patriot (favorite fandom)

Jujutsu Kaisen (fourth favorite fandom)

Neon Genesis Evangelion (fifth favorite fandom)

Bungou Stray Dogs

Spy x Family

Attack on Titan

Death Note

Haikyuu!

LIVE ACTION TV SHOWS/MOVIES:

BBC Sherlock (third favorite fandom)

Fleabag

The X Files

Game of Thrones

The Artful Dodger

VIDEO GAMES:

Genshin Impact

The Arcana (second favorite fandom) (still in the middle of playing all the routes, but I’m already obsessed)

BOOKS/BOOK SERIES:

Sherlock Holmes (series of short stories written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

MUSICALS:

Les Miserables

Sweeney Todd

Hamilton

Moulin Rouge

Cabaret

Be More Chill

“Will and Won’t”s

Will do angst, fluff, comfort, smut, whatever you can imagine. I’m willing to write incredibly graphic and intense works, but when it comes to smut, nothing too kinky. And please, although it shouldn’t even have to be said, do not request smut for characters under the age of eighteen (I won’t do aged up versions of minor characters either).

Will do almost any ship, but there are some ships I won’t write for, specifically abusive ships and ships including incest or ships with large age gaps. Other than that, I’m pretty open for even some of the most wildest ships. There’s also a few characters I may refuse to write certain types of fanfiction for because of personal reasons such as them being a triggering character for me (such as Asuka from NGE), me despising their character because they’re a disgusting person (such as Mori from BSD), and etcetera.

Will do character x reader works, polyamory “x reader” works, and other various forms of that genre. I’m fine with pretty much anything.

Will do works featuring mental disorders including depression, anxiety, autism, ADHD, etcetera. I’m very open to whatever and whatever headcanons you may want me to include!

Basic DNI/WON’TS including: racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, pedophilia, sexism, anti-abortion… along those lines.

For more info on me, here are some little facts!

I have diagnosed autism, depression, and anxiety. I have undiagnosed ADHD.

I’m omni-pansexual and arospike.

I identify as a demiboy

I like to analyze characters a lot, resulting in plenty of essays on some of the characters from my favorite fandoms (especially BSD). If you ever want to request an analysis, that’s totally welcome too!

My top eight kins are William James Moriarty, Satoru Gojo, Julian Devorak, (BBC) Sherlock Holmes, Kaeya, Ranpo Edogawa, Fleabag, and Osamu Dazai.

My current top five favorite ships are Sherliam (from MTP), Kawoshin (from NGE), Satosugu (from JJK), Johnlock (from BBC Sherlock), and Asrian (from The Arcana).

I am unhealthily obsessed right now with The Arcana’s Asra.

[stoportotouch]

thinking about The Difference Between Le Vesconte, Hodgson, And Little (but not irving, because i genuinely cannot get a read on his emotional state. or rather i can but there's a lot of other stuff going on for him that kind of overshadows all of this.) because Reasons.

and really i think little is basically massively, almost painfully, hyperempathetic. which is often the crux of the problem because my god everybody around him is miserable and he not only mirrors that back very strongly but he gets really upset himself. and the worst we see it from him is when goodsir ends up having to autopsy irving, which... i am the complete opposite of this. but i still genuinely found that scene hard to watch because matthew mcnulty REALLY does it well.

hodgson i think has a lot of affective empathy but basically no ability to look at another person and go "they are in This Mood." so he spends a lot of time feeling absolutely shitty and completely unspooled but not really knowing why. which often makes him come across as kind of a dick without his meaning to. also he very often ends up just feeling baselessly sniffly and sad without any reason that he can put a name to.

and i will preface what i am saying about le vesconte by saying that this is also my experience with empathy. (i am autistic, as is probably made clear by my ability to do all this and seemingly not get tired of myself. i also have basically none of either of the Empathies)... but he doesn't really have either.

aaaaand in fairness with the expedition if he guesses "sad and damp" he has a fair chance of being right about what somebody else is feeling. but at the same time he's approximately at the level of "looking through a dictionary to discover that the emotion somebody else is feeling is called 'sadness'".

which doesn't mean that he's deliberately going to be a dick and in certain circumstances it's advantageous. he's basically the only person who is holding fitzjames together after sir john dies. since, you know, fitzjames is in no state to function and little is probably not meaning to make it worse but he still isn't helping. (because he's essentially mirroring back "EVERYTHING SUCKS NOW" to fitzjames, which doesn't help.)

and irving... is scared of his own emotions. idk.

[pilferingapples]

tagged by @earthly-apples to list my Top Ten musicals! thank you!

these are not the 10 I think are Objectively the Best in the World, just 10 of the ones I like most, For Reasons , and in no particular order:

1-Les Miserables, just getting this one done and cleared away bc everyone knows it's gonna be here anyway XD I am very aware of the problems it has (especially with Cammack happening to it over the years) but I also think it's genuinely one of the best musicals ever made. The musical paralleling? incredible, honestly never have heard it equaled.

2- Paint Your Wagon, Movie Version Only: I cannot even START to talk about this masterpiece or we'll be here all day. Every character in it is a terrible person. It's got an absolutely canon throuple. Both Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin sing. They are both bad at it. A deconstructed Western without making a big deal out of it, with Manifest Destiny being a not-even-thinly-veiled name for some of the worst excesses of colonization. This show is so much smarter than people want it to be. I have to shut up or this section will become an essay but anyway Watch Paint Your Wagon. 3-Newsies, stage version only: nothing but nonstop pro-union slam hits! And the choreo , holy crap! don't love the mandatory romance (romance has never felt mandatorier) but I do love Katherine herself and also everything else about this show, I have it on loop in my playlists and in my heart <3

4-Pirates of Penzance: gotta have a G&S musical here and this is my fave fave of theirs :D 5- Little Shop of Horrors, movie OR play, pure fun faustian plant bargain :D 6- Hello Dolly :dgkhsdlgh many of these are. Not cheery. But this one is! Sometimes I just like a bit of marshmallow fluff! and all the songs in this one are so fun and I love the various Levels of romances in it. 7- How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying -on the one hand this is such a simple and even cliché little comedy and on the other holy shit it's so cynical , I love it

8-Titanic-*gross sobbing noises* 9- One Bite- gad I feel so hipster going with "limited run local apocalypse comedy musical about zombies taking over the world as part of an alien plan to reclaim earth for the dinosaurs" but it's TRUE, I play this soundtrack for myself so much, and it was so fun to watch! 10- Ernest Shackleton Loves Me -who amongst us has not sought inspiration from the reconstructed version of historical figures they carry in their heart. WHO. ON THIS SIDE OF TUMBLR. Tell me it's you and I'll call you a liar. I have a zillion things to say about it and like ten people have watched it lmao , but it got me through the Worst Week and I love it forever.

Honorable mention to Repo Man , as a representative of all the shows I enjoy only small bits of. Good? Arguably No! But it DOES feature Zydrate, which as we all know, comes in a little glass vial.

ETA: I forgot to tag people! Tagging @pureanonofficial, @bewareofitalics, @wilwywaylan, @alicedrawslesmis, @himitsusentaiblog, @excessively-english-jd annnnd oh geez that's already so many!! Play along if you feel like it!

[chaggiehearts]

Intro ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Hi! Making a little introduction for my blog <3

You can call me Mimi. I’m 19 years old, I use she/her pronouns and I’m a lesbian. I’m also neurodivergent (though for privacy reasons I won’t be indicating exactly what I have). I speak both Spanish and English (with Spanish being my native tongue). I love Hazbin Hotel and this blog is entirely dedicated to this show that has taken over my life. I watched the pilot in the summer of 2020 so I’ve been here for a long while, but I didn’t get properly obsessed until the show released :)

As one could have imagined seeing my icon, header, username, blog description and general posts, I love chaggie so much, they're my favourite part of the show (as characters and as a ship). I do love the rest of the show too, they’re just my faves.

My favorite characters are, in order: Vaggie, Charlie (very unexpected top 2 I know /s, I love them <33), Lute, Emily (my other two faves!!!), Velvette, Carmilla, Rosie, Niffty and sir Pentious. That being said, I like almost every character. Though I mainly talk about Charlie and Vaggie because #brainrot, you may expect any other character too, specially the aforementioned.

Chaggie is my absolute OTP and around 80% of my posts will be about them. Some other pairings I also love are emilute, fallenwings, huskerdust, guitarspear, royalhalo, velmilla, zestmilla, qpr radiorose and cherrisnake. I adore the idea of Charlie's angels as an OT4 because I love throwing all my favorite characters into a ship and imagining the chaos that would follow 👍🏻

I tend to tag absolutely every character and ship I post/reblog about, so if anything here makes you uncomfortable don't hesitate to blacklist it :)

I'm interested in many other things, namely Project Sekai!, BanG Dream!, D4DJ, Love Live!, Vocaloid (specially the Evillious Chronicles series and the Night∞Series), Helluva Boss, RWBY, Red vs. Blue, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, The Dragon Prince, The Owl House, Steven Universe, Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Legend of Korra, Five Nights at Freddy's, Monster High, Ever After High, Rainbow High, Madoka Magica, Kakegurui, Danganronpa, Your Turn To Die, Sanrio, Cookie Run, Heathers, Les Miserables, etc.

My Helluva Boss sideblog is @fiizzarollii and my sideblog for anything not related to the Hellaverse is @dreamermarionette :)

I don't tend to do DNIs because I understand bigots don't tend to respect them, but well, if you're someone that discriminates others on the basis of anything and I find out, I'll block you. When it comes to Hazbin Hotel, I don't want to interact with you if you ship Valentino X Angel, Lucifer or Lilith X Charlie, Vaggie X men or Angel X women, those things really make me uncomfortable.

As a note, I’m extremely anxious and shy, so it’s difficult for me to DM people first and I might take a bit of time to reply, but I really enjoy meeting people and making friends so don't hesitate to talk to me if you wanna chat :)

Finally, I love drawing and writing. You can find my Hazbin Hotel fanarts tagged as “#my art <3” (though I tend to post the actually good stuff in my art blog @elverniia and just rb them here, I only post the stuff that is unfinished or too simple/messy here). I haven’t posted fanfics yet so idk what I’ll tag them, I’ll see when I get there!

[cryinglobster69]

A few of my favourite lines from Moby Dick. All by Ishmael unless otherwise mentioned.

———

How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair.

We had lain thus in bed, chatting and napping at short intervals, and Queequeg now and then affectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs over mine, and then drawing them back; so entirely sociable and free and easy were we…

Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed.

Flask, alas! was a butterless man!

All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. - Ahab

Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me. - Ahab

The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run - Ahab

He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.

The sea had jeeringly kept his finite body up, but drowned the infinite of his soul. Not drowned entirely, though. Rather carried down alive to wondrous depths, where strange shapes of the unwarped primal world glided to and fro before his passive eyes; and the miser-merman, Wisdom, revealed his hoarded heaps; and among the joyous, heartless, ever-juvenile eternities, Pip saw the multitudinous, God-omnipresent, coral insects, that out of the firmament of waters heaved the colossal orbs. He saw God's foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad. So man's insanity is heaven's sense; and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, indifferent as his God.

Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

In thoughts of the visions of the night, I saw long rows of angels in paradise, each with his hands in a jar of spermaceti.

It tasted something as I should conceive a royal cutlet from the thigh of Louis le Gros might have tasted, supposing him to have been killed the first day after the venison season…

This spade is sharp as hone can make it; the spademan's feet are shoeless; the thing he stands on will sometimes irresistibly slide away from him, like a sledge. If he cuts off one of his own toes, or one of his assistants', would you be very much astonished? Toes are scarce among veteran blubber-room men.

“No, no—no water for that; I want it of the true death-temper. Ahoy, there! Tashtego, Queequeg, Daggoo! What say ye, pagans! Will ye give me as much blood as will cover this barb?" holding it high up. A cluster of dark nods replied, Yes. Three punctures were made in the heathen flesh, and the White Whale's barbs were then tempered. “Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!" deliriously howled Ahab, as the malignant iron scorchingly devoured the baptismal blood.

(Translation, "Ego non baptizo te in nominee patris, sed in nominee diaboli": I baptize you not in the name of the Father, but in the name of the devil)

Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. - Ahab

Thou canst blind; but I can then grope. Thou canst consume; but I can then be ashes. Take the homage of these poor eyes, and shutter-hands. I would not take it. The lightning flashes through my skull; mine eye-balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on some stunning ground. Oh, oh! Yet blindfold, yet will I talk to thee. Light though thou be, thou leapest out of darkness; but I am darkness leaping out of light, leaping out of thee! - Ahab

And at least one by Stubb, as an honorable mention: Thank him heartily; but tell him it's against my principles to drink with the man I've diddled.

[neroushalvaus]

I wanna ask you an important (not really) question, but don't feel like you have to answer.

Javert in epilogue Heaven: yes or no? Is he in hell or purgatory maybe?

Hey, as far as I am concerned, this is an important question ;D This is actually a discussion I have cared enough about to give a whole ted talk about it in my friends' musical theatre podcast (sadly the episode is in Finnish). But yeah, my opinion is a very definitive "yes".

Because I know people have conflicting views about this, I hope you don't mind me explaining myself, I don't want to end up on people's "bad les mis takes" blocklists before I get to justify my case.

So, when we talk about Heaven in the context of Les Mis, we can't ignore the fact that Les Mis as a musical and as a book holds Christian values. If we look at the main theological themes present in the book, it preaches hospitality, grace and forgiveness (and also liberation theology even though it wasn't called that back then but we are keeping it simple). That's why "Javert can't go to Heaven because he was a bad person" doesn't work for me, even though I absolutely agree that he is. If Javert is not in Heaven, I think having Javert's Suicide mirror Valjean's Soliloquy is a bad decision. The bishop shows Valjean kindness, Valjean looks within and Valjean gets a new life; Valjean shows Javert kindness, Javert looks within... And? I think it makes narrative sense that Javert gets a new life, even if it is after death.

Another argument I have seen is "Javert wouldn't want to be in the epilogue, there is a barricade there", and I don't agree with that either. Like. I don't think it's a literal barricade, it is a metaphor for how the equal world the Amis wanted exists after death. I'm not saying it's not a bittersweet ending – I think Karl Marx would absolutely hate it –, but that's what it is. It's not a very revolutionary ending. For what it's worth, I don't think the literal character of Enjolras would actually be comfortable singing about how everyone will be equal once they're dead and that's fine. It only works if the barricade is a metaphor.

Aside from being Heaven, I think the epilogue has two purposes; to gather all the characters on the stage once more, and to give the audience some catharsis. This is why I think Javert should be there, and in fact, I think every character in the show should be there. The book and the show are called Les Misérables for a reason, every character in it is wretched and has been left behind by society. The musical is pretty vague about Javert's wretchedness, but I think he reveals just enough for the audience to see that this is a miserable bastard and if he were to sing in the end with the others, that would bring the audience some catharsis. Especially seeing him together with everyone the society he has served has harmed, and he himself has harmed. I personally would really like that. "We will walk behind the plowshare, we will put away the sword. The chain will be broken and all men will have their reward". I also like how that would prove Javert wrong. As he sings in Stars, he thinks that "those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward"; then he, in his own mind, fails to follow that path; and he gets in Heaven, where everyone who has suffered in their life will be rewarded, no matter the bad things they did. Not to quote the book too much, but "This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome".

I think that would be the correct way to end this musical. The ending may not be revolutionary, but at its best it is cathartic, hopeful and gentle. So in my opinion it should be as gentle as possible.