#i have so many hugo thoughts help

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

Now you. Give me the Hugo thoughts.

-Eldest daughter energy in the same way that Varian is youngest child energy. Hugo has the entire golden child complex without having parents or?? siblings.

-Speaking of which, what is his relationship with his dad? Did he know his dad? Does he have someone in his life that he considers a father figure? If he doesn't know his dad, does he ever think about him?

-Does he look more like his mother or father? I think he has is mother's eyes, chin and nose, but his hair and build are more like his father's. Does Hugo ever think about this?

-KLEPTOMANIAC!! This man has a disorder!!!! It wins him free shit though so he will NOT be getting therapy for it!!!

-I like thinking about the fact that Hugo is someone who is very comfortable with himself. He's in touch with his thoughts, feelings (for the moooost part), and body. He's very extroverted, charming, and social! He likes being around people and he's comfy in group settings!

-I also like thinking about the fact that Varian makes him uncomfortable. Why is he so tense around the guy? Why does he make him unreasonably mad for no reason? WHY IS HE ANNOYED WHEN VARIAN HANGS OUT WITH PEOPLE WHO AREN'T HIM???

-The best Hugo era in my brain is pre-relationship, pinning era. Just after Hugo is out of denial. He's accepted that he has feelings for Varian, but doesn't believe that they can ever EVER be returned. Thinking about this MAKES ME INSANE. This man is writing sonnets and buying Varian dinner and asking him to hang out ALL THE TIME and he doesn't know how to handle the fact that the person he wants is RIGHT THERE but untouchable forever.

-I love love love the au I've created in my head where Hugo is juuuuust a little bit magic. He gently suggests that a mugger lowers their knife and they do. He pulls Yong out of the way of a passing cart without looking. He's been dreaming of Varian's voice before he met him. These are all normal things of course.

-SMART HUGO COMPETENT HUGO IS MY KIIIIIINK. This man is not only a brilliant alchemist, but he's also a PEOPLE PERSON!!! AND A STRATEGIST (maybe). He could pull of a really really good heist is what I'm saying.

-His haaaaaands. Stupid stupid fingerless gloves. Thinking about him lock picking and playing the piano and drawing. Fuuuck.

-This is more varigo centric, but I'm obsessed with an au that takes place before they realize they have feelings for each other where the two of them are shown each other's childhoods via some magic fuckery and they're both like. Oh. I'm going to protect him. LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Anyway that's my starter pack for Hugo thoughts. <3

[sergle]

Now I’m curious, what breeds are on your list?

✨Golden Retrievers✨ Pomeranians Samoyeds Rottweilers Irish red setters German Shepherd (I like the black ones) Rough Collies and Shelties Great Pyrenees Bernese Mountain Dogs Cocker Spaniels St. Bernards Borzois and probably more that I forgot to list!! These are all dogs that I Especially want to cry when I see them, and that I could see myself loving / being able to meet the particular needs of their breed. I've expanded my Range a little in the two years since I brought Hugo home, since he's taught me a lot about dogs, and I could potentially take care of a baby with very different needs from the ones that he had. I'm still by no means a dog expert but. Yanno. You learn small things over time! In the end, when I was searching for a dog a few years ago, I had a few qualifications I didn't want to budge on. I needed a dog that's trainable, but not stubborn, a dog that's gentle and considerate with my cats and my niblings, a dog that's not too reactive, a dog with soft fur, and a dog that is affectionate. So... Hugo is all of those things!!! He picks up skills quickly and listens (I gotta work on his Recall though), he takes extreme care around the cats and is so careful that he can be left alone with kittens and baby chicks, so being sat on / bothered / tugged on by small kids isn't even a challenge. He has never growled at anyone or anything in Irritation in his life. He's never bared his teeth. He doesn't bark at strangers or at odd noises, he doesn't snap as a response to being surprised. He's extremely pillowy soft, and his fur doesn't irritate my skin or pierce my clothes. He is extremely, extremely sweet and loving, frankly to the point that he would easily fall in love with a new owner if he was kidnapped lmao. You can maybe see why I like goldens so much. I got REALLY close to adopting a Pomeranian, which I'll continue to Think About, basically forever... but as someone with a predisposition for migraines, I don't want to set the dog up for failure if I'm not ready to hear bark bark bark bark bark bark bark all day. That's the ONLY downside. Maybe I invest in some noise cancelling headphones? They're beautiful dogs though, I love an animal that looks like a little rat. You ever see one of them after a bath? My god.

[pilferingapples]

Y'know I love Comedically Ineffectual Javert but I feel like. Mayhaps. Not enough emphasis is put on how he is actually dangerous to people on the barricade.

He's a government spy -- "A spy of the first quality, who had observed everything, listened to everything, and taken in everything, even when he thought that he was to die; who had played the spy even in his agony, and who, with his elbows leaning on the first step of the sepulchre, had taken notes."

He knows everyone who was there, and a good amount of who did what, who's the leader, etc. He recognizes Marius after the sewers . He took names. He could have given evidence against everyone on the barricades.

Including the five men who escaped.

Including anyone who survived the massacre.

Including the women who worked at the Corinth, who did in fact help set up and prepare the barricade for the fight.

In fact, we don't know that he didn't --we can assume that he had too short an audience with the prefect to give over any detailed info, or that he chose to withhold some things in his Valjean-induced confusion, or even that they threw out his info after his suicide. But it's also possible that five men who thought they'd escaped were rounded up and arrested that week, or that two waitresses were seized as insurgents, or captives were hit with some very specific charges. As Hugo examines in detail in Ninety Three, and hints at even in Les Mis, sometimes showing mercy to one person means condemning many others.

(This , combined with the then-current attitude towards spies --basically that they were the scummiest of scum, execute immediately-- all makes me wonder not why Enjolras wanted him killed, but why he insisted on letting Javert live so long. Especially after Prouvaire's death, when it's safe to say the idea of any potential hostage negotiation is nixed-- what is the point? They aren't really intent on saving a bullet, given Valjean has the go-ahead to shoot him. And after Five Less One More, there's no chance that, say, they'll win and get to let him go as being actually harmless to them with the new political situation. There's no real explanation given in canon so it's an interesting question!)

At any rate: whether Javert did or didn't actually deliver his info, Enjolras and the other barricade fighters choosing to execute him is a practical move totally in keeping realistic military behavior (and Hugo is trying to establish them as behaving like Honorable Military Men ! Which is a whole other topic ...) . Javert is dangerous to the barricade fighters , as his job is to be dangerous-- and despite how he comes off sometimes (and in some adaptations), Javert is actually very very good at his job.

[pixelnrd]

Mac’s investigation into Theodore Brown was coming up short. They knew that the further back in history they went, the less likely they would find any digitally preserved records of their ancestry. And so far, their searching had failed.

In an act of desperation, they decided to visit the Henford cemetary - and finally, the pieces fell together.

They found the gravestones of Douglas Brown and his wife Joan - listing their descendents, Margot, Vincent and Lewis. Mac finally had their answer - Margot was the daughter of Douglas Brown!

And Douglas was the son of Theodore - for they then finally found what they had been searching for. Side by side were two individuals, Theodore and Ruth Brown (nee Langston), survived by their children Douglas and Eileen.

But then Mac noticed something more. Next to the gravestone of Ruth was another person - Daisy Adelaide Schiller (nee Weston). Mother of Ruth, Thelma and Mabel.

It was another clue to the past. Here was proof of another lineage - Daisy Weston, mother of Ruth. But if Daisy was the mother of Ruth, why did they not share a surname? Where did Langston come from?

Mac was stumped. There were too many surnames now, and what hope would they have of finding an individual who existed in the 1920s. It felt like the trail had finally run cold, and when their usual internet searches produced nothing on a Daisy Schiller, Weston or Langston, Mac felt defeated.

That evening they sat slumped in the local pub, beer in hand. They thought about going home. What were they doing here, on their own, searching up ghosts. Families were messy and complex - Mac knew that - and they couldn't blame their ancestors for following non-traditional paths. But now they were stuck and couldn't figure out how to go further.

'Hey, you ok?' asked a voice. Mac looked up and noticed it was Hugo from the farm. 'How's the family history going?'

'Oh yeah...' sighed Mac. 'It's not anymore. Dead end. Might be time to go home... I just feel like I came so far, so it's hard to accept.'

Hugo sat down with them and listened. 'That is a bummer,' they admitted. 'But do you want some help maybe? An extra brain to work out the mess with? I love a bit of family history... you can come over some time and we can go through it together. Maybe we can figure out the next step. You came all this way - don't give up just yet.'

[celiastjamesoscar]

Wildest Dreams

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: you are helplessly head over heels for Sam, even though she despises you. But your relationship with her changes when you get in a lightly physical altercation with her.

Warnings: light sweating, reader accidentally walks in on Sam changing, small violence

My Masterlist

AN: if you have the time, I highly recommend reading ‘The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo’ and watching ‘Carol’ <3

Word count: 6.3K

For the first time in what seemed a millennium, you finally had the house to yourself. Anika was out with Mindy for a date, and your other roommate, Luke, was doing god knows what, probably out fornicating with one of his many boyfriends, but you didn’t care. You only cared about relaxing on the couch and rewatching your comfort show, Game of Thrones.

You grabbed your phone and a bowl of popcorn and went to the couch. You curled up with the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa as you turned on your show.

Tarantula: you up? ;)

The ‘ding’ from the text pulled you away from the tv, and you smiled when you read the text from your best friend, Tara. The two of you had met on campus in the library and instantly became friends. You two bonded over your love for books and shared a passion for horror movies, even though your opinions drastically differ.

Sam lover: maybe, it depends on who’s asking

Tarantula: you’re best friend in the entire world?? Who else?

Sam lover: mhmmm, okay. What are we doing?

Tarantula: movie night, obviously

Sam lover: sure, I’ll be over in ten

Tarantula: just a heads up, you’ll have to come in through my window

You raised your eyebrows at Tara’s message, ‘Why would I have to do that? I’ve been over before,’ you thought to yourself.

Sam lover: why?

Tarantula: because Sam is watching a movie in the living room, and we are hanging out in my room

Sam lover: fuck, okay. why does she still hate me?

Tarantula: I don’t know, but don’t make any noise when you come over. Sam can’t know and don’t try and hit on her if you see her

To say that you and Sam were acquaintances would be an understatement; Sam despised you, while the woman completely enchanted you. Sam was so tall and handsome as hell. She’s bad for you, but she does it so well; you could see the end as it begins. You admired her strength, both physically and mentally, and you loved the way she cared so much about her sister. And that was also your downfall; Sam believed that you were no good for Tara, as every time Tara did something stupid, you were always at the scene of the crime. Of course, Sam didn’t know that you were always there because you tried your best to stop Tara out of respect for Sam (and a shitty attempt at winning her heart), but she never listened when you tried to explain yourself.

You scoffed at your best friend’s words. She knew of your infatuation with Sam and loved to tease you about it. At first, however, she thought it was a bit weird as you were her best friend and thought you were using her to get close to Sam, but after she saw you turn down an invite to go with Sam and Mindy to the movies just to stay at home and play Mario Kart with her, she knew that you were the real deal.

Tara found it a bit sad, though, because every time you would talk to Sam, you would either get silence, a death stare, or a one-word reply, but she would rather die than tell you that she felt pity for your shitty attempts to talk to her sister.

Sam lover: I will not be held responsible for my actions when I am around a beautiful woman with big brown eyes

Tarantula: yeah, yeah, whatever. just get over here soon and climb in through my window; I’ll leave it open

Sam lover: sounds good. I’m omw

With that, you shut your phone off, grabbed your backpack and put a spare change of clothes along with a cable to charge your phone in it, and went towards Tara’s apartment. You enjoyed walking by yourself as it allowed you to be with your thoughts, and you couldn’t help it when you started to think of Sam. The gravitational pull you felt towards the older woman was something you couldn’t explain even if you had to; you just knew that you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt. You longed to get lost in those dark eyes and don’t even get started on those muscular arms; to you, Sam was perfect, and you would count all the stars in the sky if you could call her yours for a moment.

When you reached the street Tara lived on, you sent Tara a quick message asking her which side her window would be on, and she responded with ‘the one that’s close to creepy ass alley,’ which was all of New York in your eyes.

Sam lover: that’s all of NY, Tarantula

Tarantula: It’s across from the McDonald’s, five stories up. And stop calling me ‘Tarantula.’ It’s offensive.

You laughed at your friend’s reply before sending back a quick ‘huh uh.’ You walked around the apartment until you saw the McDonald’s and then the creepy ass alleyway and looked up five stories. And true to her word, Tara had her window open for you. You climbed onto the fire escape and slowly made your way to Tara’s window before sending her a quick text telling her you were here, only you didn’t see the message she sent back telling you you weren’t at her window.

When you pushed Tara’s window the rest of the way and climbed halfway in, you nearly died; Sam was standing in a towel with her back facing you as she grabbed some clothes from her dresser. When she dropped her towel, your heart exploded, and it felt like you were in your wildest dream. You admired her perfect curves, and then the leg that you had in Sam’s room gave out, causing you to fall into Sam’s room with a loud thud.

Sam turned around with a shocked expression before she quickly turned back to her dresser and grabbed a knife. You could not seem to pry your eyes away from Sam’s chest, and you swore you could feel drool fall down your chin. You were too busy trying to engrave Sam’s naked figure into your brain that you didn’t feel the blade fly into your left thigh.

“Sam, I am so sorry,” you said as you tried to stand up on your legs, but one gave out and screamed in pain. The only thing on your mind was Sam’s breasts that you swore looked like the softest pillows ever.

“What the fuck is going-Oh my god! What happened to your leg?” Tara exclaimed after bursting into the room, disregarding her sister, who finally covered herself with a towel. At the mention of something wrong with your leg, you finally felt the sharp pain shoot through your entire leg as you stared at the blade in your thigh.

“You’re weird friend just broke into my room and stared at me while I was changing!” Sam stated as she grabbed her clothes and stormed off to the bathroom, clearly not caring about your wound. Tara quickly ran to your side and knelt beside you, “I am so sorry about this, Y/N. I didn’t know that she also had her window open.”

You shrugged off Tara’s comment as you tried to move, but the pain was too much. You watched as your crimson-red blood steeped onto the room’s flooring and stained your clothing. “Come on, we have to get you to a hospital,” Tara stated, pulling you up to the floor and leaning your weight onto her. By the time Tara had entered the living room and to the door, Sam was dressed and had her phone and keys in hand. “I’ll take you to the hospital; let’s go,” Sam stated as she moved Tara off you and took her place. It was pitiful how your face heated up when you felt Sam pull your left arm over her shoulders and hold it while her right arm was wrapped around your waist, allowing you to lean your weight onto her.

When you reached Sam’s car, Tara opened up the back row door and helped Sam lay you down on the seats before she got into the passenger door. “Do not die in my car, Y/N. I don’t need you to haunt my car,” Sam dryly stated as she closed the door and got in the driver’s side. You don’t remember much of the car ride to the hospital; the only thing on your mind was seeing Sam naked, and no matter how hard you tried, you would never be about to erase that beautiful image from your mind.

One moment you were daydreaming about the beautiful goddess that had just stabbed you, and then the next, you were in a hospital bed with stitches in your thigh. For the life of you, you couldn’t recall what had happened, just that you saw Sam naked, and then she stabbed you. You saw yourself, in hindsight, tangled up with her all night in your wildest dreams. Someday when your mind leaves you, you bet that the memory of Sam will follow you around.

“Oh, thank god, I thought I was going to have to murder Sam,” Tara said as she moved from the chair in the corner of the room and approached your bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What happened? The last thing I remember was being in the back of Sam’s car,” you recalled as you looked around the room and saw Sam, who was standing creepily in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“You passed out on the drive here. You should have seen Sam, though; she was terrified you had actually died,” Tara said with a small laugh as she remembered her sister’s frantic attempts to make sure you were still alive, and she also wanted to let you know that Sam slightly cared about you.

Sam scoffed at her sister’s words as she uncrossed her arms and walked toward you. “I was worried you were going to ruin my seats and then haunt my car,” Sam stated coldly, but her eyes betrayed her icy stature. You could see the way her eyes darted across your body, subtly checking to see if you were actually okay, and how she had her hands shoved into the pockets on her bomber jacket, slightly ashamed that she had hurt you.

Within the first encounters you had with Sam, you noticed how she always hid her hands when she was ashamed of something, and right now, all you wanted to do was reach out and comfort the woman. “Eh, I’m fine,” you shrugged briefly.

You talked to Tara while Sam stood around the room, looking out of place as she watched you with her sister. When the doctor came in, she gave you painkillers and told you could leave in the morning. “Could one of us stay here with her?” Sam asked the doctor worriedly when she was close to the door. “The hospital rules say we can’t allow non-family members to stay overnight, but I’ll let you stay with your girlfriend,” the doctor replied with a smile as she looked between you and Sam, clearly reading into some tension in the air.

Sam didn’t even have time to deny the doctor’s words before she left the room and shut the door, so Sam turned around with a scoff and was met with your drugged-out smile and Tara’s knowing one. “Well, Sammy, I will leave you here with your ‘girlfriend,’” Tara joked as she stood from the bed and grabbed her things.

“No. Tara, there is no way you are leaving here this late at night,” Sam replied as she followed her sister to the doorway. “Well, I’m certainly not staying here; I hate hospitals. And besides, Mindy is here to pick me up,” Tara replied with a smile.

She hated to admit it, but Sam was at a crossroads. She didn’t want Tara to stay here after the last time her sister was left alone in a hospital, and she also didn’t want you to stay here alone. She worried about you for Tara’s sake and definitely not because she felt terrible for being the reason you were here.

With a defeated sigh, Sam nodded and spoke, “Alright. Just let me walk you out.”

You watched the two sisters open the door and smiled when Sam stopped and looked back at you, “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“Okay, girlfriend,” you replied with a dopey smile, clearly enjoying the effects of the painkillers.

When Sam returned, she said nothing as she brought two chairs together and made herself an awkward bed. “You know, you can join me,” you suggested as you scooted over to the side, allowing Sam some room if she chose to sleep with you.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Sam replied as she got out a blanket and a pillow from the wardrobe and got comfortable on the chairs.

“Why not? I’ve already seen you naked.”

Sam rolled her eyes and laid her head on the pillow, and covered up with the blanket, “Do not mention that ever again.”

“Okay. I want to let you know you have a beautiful body, Sam. Your boobs are perfect! I mean, my god, the things I would do-”

“Please stop talking,” Sam interrupted you as she tried her best to fight off the fluttering feeling in her stomach at your words. She knew the painkillers were talking, but she couldn’t help but believe there was some truth to your comments. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Sam said after a few awkward moments of silence.

“Goodnight, girlfriend,” you teased as you got as comfortable as you could you a hospital bed before sleep consumed you.

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

In the morning, you were discharged from the hospital but had to walk around with crutches for a while. And to put it short, you hated it. Yes, having to walk around with them constantly clanking every time you walked got annoying, and how your armpits ached at the end of each day. But the worst part was that you couldn’t impress Sam with them.

Naturally, you were angry at Sam for throwing a knife in your leg, but you also shouldn’t have been staring at her while she was changing.

“Who even changes with their window open anyways?” Mindy asked one night while over at Tara’s apartment for dinner. You and Mindy had been invited over for a girl dinner with the Carpenters as you four sat around the dining table. The table had a dish of lasagna along with a salad bowl prepared, and you could not wait to eat the delicious food Sam had prepared.

“My room was hot, and I was letting in fresh air; I didn’t think someone would try and break in,” Sam stated as she made herself a bowl of salad with her lasagna.

“I did not break in. Tara invited me over and told me to go through her open window,” you said once you finished a bite of your food, “so technically, it’s her fault.”

Tara scoffed at your words while throwing a crouton at you, earning herself a scolding look from Sam. “Do not try and blame this on me; I texted you and told you that wasn’t my room, but you didn’t see it,” Tara replied.

“Why did you even tell her to climb through your window?” Sam asked with a puzzled look.

“Because, Sam, you would have told her to leave or probably stabbed her, but you already did that,” Tara dryly said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam rolled her eyes at her sister's statement before focusing on her food.

“I was lightly stabbed, so it’s not that big of a deal,” you said.

“You were still stabbed, Y/N,” Tara replied annoyedly. She knew that you were weirdly happy about Sam stabbing you, but she tried her best to ignore it.

“Lightly stabbed.”

Mindy chuckled while looking at you, “Whatever. I still can’t believe she threw a knife at you; me personally, I would not let that slide.”

“It’s whatever; I didn’t even notice it until Tara came barging into the room,” you said while looking at Sam, who picked her food with her fork and refused to meet your gaze.

Mindy just laughed at your response before returning her attention to her food. The rest of dinner was filled with laughs and idle conversations, but you couldn’t help but notice how Sam didn’t participate in any of the conversations. You had tried to get her engaged, but she would either respond with a nod, a laugh, or a single word.

Sam felt bad for reacting the way she did, and she wanted to apologize to you, but she didn’t know how without bringing up the fact you slightly deserved it. So, when dinner was finished, and the rest of the group moved into the living room to watch a movie, Sam pulled you aside.

“What’s up?” You asked with a smile as you leaned on a crutch. It had been a couple of weeks since you were discharged from the hospital, so now you only walked around with one crutch.

That smile you gave her, Sam couldn’t find the correct words to describe it. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she wanted to kiss it off your lips. “Just so you know, you’re insufferable and intolerable. And I hate you.”

“Oh, okay,” you said with that same smile, fully knowing Sam was lying. Sam, on the other hand, desperately needed to get away from you, or she might do something she would regret. “Is there anything else you need?” You asked.

With a sigh, Sam asked, “Yes, actually. What are some books I could read? I’ve been trying to get into reading because of Tara, and I wanted to discuss them with her, and I need to have a few books under my belt before I do that.”

Your smile grew ten times bigger at Sam’s question, and the older woman wanted to murder you for it. “I have been waiting for ages for you to ask me that. I actually have a copy of my favorite book with me if you want to give it a try?” You asked as you made your way over to your backpack.

Sam followed behind you and watched as you moved around your sleeping clothes and pulled out a weathered book. It had different colored sticky notes hanging from the pages, and the edges around the book looked like they had their share of bumps and drops.

Sam grabbed the book and read the cover with a scoff. “Look, Y/N; I’m not reading a book about a woman who had seven different husbands. That’s just absurd,” the Latina said with a dry tone.

“No,” you replied as you placed your hand on Sam’s wrist, holding the book, “trust me, Sam. Just try it; it’s not what you think it is.”

“Alright, fine. If this book is better than it sounds,” Sam said as she looked around the room with a huff, “I guess I’ll treat you with respect or something.”

Sam didn’t even have time to react before she felt the hand on her wrist pull away and pinch her cheek. “I know you’ll love it,” you said with a cheeky grin as Sam slapped your hand away from her face. “Do not ever do that again,” she warned as she pointed a finger in your face.

“Yes, ma’am,” you responded with a salute before walking back toward the living room, “is there anything else you need?”

‘I want to take you on a date and then put your head on a stick,’ Sam wanted to say but said, “I’ll let you know what I think of it.”

You gave Sam a soft smile as you returned to the living room. Sam didn’t know what she was feeling toward you, but she eventually sauntered off to her room after realizing she cared about you more than friends do.

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

“Come on, Tara; The Babadook is easily one of the worst horror movies ever made!” You exclaimed with your hands as you stared down at the more petite girl. You had finally gotten your stitches out and were no longer walking around with a crutch, so that meant a celebration night over at the Carpenter’s apartment.

“No, it’s not! You just hate it so much because it scares you!” Tara retorted as she hit the leg closest to her, which happened to be the one Sam lightly stabbed.

You moved your legs up onto the loveseat you were sitting on after she hit you, “Yeah, and also because it scares me so much! And don’t hit me, you little shit.” Tara scoffed at your words and stood up and grabbed one of her shoes, and was getting ready to launch it at you when the door to the apartment opened. She quickly dropped the shoe and stood facing the door with her hands clasped behind her back and an innocent smile, as if she wasn’t just getting ready to throw a shoe as hard as she could at your face. “What’s going on?” Sam asked when she saw Tara standing with a creepy smile and your shocked expression.

“Tara was-”

“I was getting up to order some pizza!” Tara interrupted you and sent you a death glare when Sam turned her back to hang up her purse. Sam turned around and looked between you two and ignored the shoe she saw by Tara’s feet; whatever her sister was getting ready to do to you, you probably deserved it.

“Okay,” Sam replied as she exaggerated the word before walking to her room, but not before sending you a glare. “Nice to see you, Sam!” you said with a smile while Sam huffed before slamming her door. “You are such a charmer,” Tara joked as she shoved your legs off the couch so she could sit next to you.

You scoffed at Tara’s words while you reached for the remote and pushed Tara off you when she tried to take it from you. “No! Down girl, down!” You said when you finally pushed Tara off of you. She scoffed as you turned on the tv before leaning back on the couch and putting her feet in your lap. You pulled her feet more into your lap and let your hand rest on her leg while you looked for something to watch. Naturally, Tara made it hard for you to pick something out because she refused to watch anything you wanted to spite you, but eventually, you settled on watching ‘Carol.’ You loved this movie more than anything, even though you cried every time you watched it.

For some unknown reason, Tara pulled her feet from your lap and left the couch roughly ten minutes into the movie. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she walked toward her room with her phone in hand. “Do you want me to pause it for you?” You asked as you reached for the remote but stopped when Tara told you not to wait up on her. You missed the devilish smirk she wore on her lips as she disappeared into her room.

You continued to watch the movie by yourself when you heard a door open up. “Finally! I was starting to think that you were leaving me here to hang out with Sam,” you said with a smile as you paused the movie and finally turned around to face Tara, but your smile faded once you saw Sam. “Oh, I’m sorry; I thought you were Tara,” you said with an embarrassed tone as your eyes refused to meet Sam’s piercing gaze.

The older woman huffed at your words before she went to the couch and sat at the opposite end while unlocking her phone, trying to keep as much space as possible between you two. “Tara texted me and told me that she felt sick and she didn’t want you to leave because it’s late at night and doesn’t want anything to happen to you, so she wants me to keep you company,” Sam read aloud her text messages between her and Tara before she closed her phone and set it on the coffee table in front of you guys.

“You don’t have to; I’m fine staying in here by myself,” you said with a polite smile while looking at Sam. The woman turned her head and looked at you before giving you the fakest smile you have ever seen while she lied through her teeth, “That’s alright, I’m good to stay in here with you.” The tension was so thick you could practically taste it on your tongue, but you held your breath and muttered a quiet ‘okay’ as you restarted the movie.

It’s not that she hated being around you after the incident; the only thing she wanted to do was kiss you and call you hers, but she was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same. Especially after she lightly stabbed you.

“Wait, why are you restarting it?” Sam questioned as she looked between you and the tv.

“Because you missed the opening scene, which is arguably one of the best scenes in the movie, and you also need to watch it to understand the ending better,” you reasoned with an honest smile while your gentle eyes danced across Sam’s face.

She didn’t know why, but after listening to your explanation of why the opening scene was essential and listening to your voice that was full of only love and admiration for this movie, Sam decided that she would actually pay attention to it, rather than send you hateful glances every once in a while.

So when the tv finally stopped the introduction, and it was Carol and Therese sitting together at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant, Sam picked up on the tension-riddled scene and couldn’t help but glance over at you. She noticed how your eyebrows furrowed, and your eyes danced between Carol and Therese as if you were getting ready to jump through the tv and become a part of the movie. Her eyes finally drifted down to your lips, and she noticed how your tongue was barely sticking out between your lips as you studied the screen, as if there was going to be something small in the background, and if you blinked, you would miss it.

“Are you even watching?” You questioned when you felt eyes burning into the side of your skull, but your own eyes never left the screen.

Sam awkwardly cleared her throat before speaking, “Sorry; you just seem really invested in this movie, and I thought it was funny.” You felt heat creep up the back of your neck at Sam’s words but shook it off as her being cautious of you. “It’s a great film, Sam. I think you’ll like it,” you replied with a gentle smile as you pried your eyes away from the screen to look at Sam before returning your attention to the tv.

When you said that she might like it, Sam took her eyes away from you and actually paid attention to the movie. When the sex scene came up, the air in the room became tense, as if both of you were holding your breath and holding back from one another. Sam tried her best to fight back the blush she felt, and she looked to you for help. You had your mouth agape, no matter how often you watched this scene, you were always enchanted by it, and you whispered, “I wish that were me.” Even though she tried to, Sam couldn’t come up with a retort for your comment; she also wishes she could do that with Cate Blanchett, but she also wishes that was her with you.

Sam then turned her attention back to the screen and had to fight any urges that she might have been feeling toward you. Her eyes never left the screen until the very end; only when she had to blink back the eyes that threatened to escape as she looked up at the ceiling. When the end credits rolled, you cleared your throat, tension still left over from the sex scene, “So, what did you think of it?”

“It was certainly something. It was a lot better than I expected, just based on your taste in things,” Sam joked as she subtly wiped the tears away in her eyes. You chuckled at her words, ‘if you only you knew,’ you thought as she stared at her with hearty eyes.

You quickly snapped out of your daze when you noticed Sam shuffling uncomfortably on the couch, “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. And just so you know,” you said as you stood up from the couch, “I have an exceptional taste in things.”

Sam laughed at your words before standing up, “I highly doubt that.” You smiled at the older woman before making your way to Tara’s room; you had plans to murder the little shit for leaving you alone with Sam. “Goodnight, Sam,” you said with a smile as you opened Tara’s door slightly. Sam gave you a genuine smile as she went to her room, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

This was the first time you had had a direct conversation with Sam since she pulled you aside and asked for a book recommendation, and you wished you could have more conversations with the woman. She was smarter than she gave herself credit for, and the way she expressed herself through body language while talking was something you found attractive, to put it lightly.

When you entered Tara’s room, you saw the girl lying toward the foot of her bed with her laptop open, and you could faintly hear Toni Collette giving her ‘I am your mother’ speech. “So, how did it go with Samantha?” Tara questioned with a smug grin as you sat on the bed with your back propped against the headboard. You threw your legs up onto the bed and dug the heel of your right foot into Tara’s back, causing the girl to let out a small yelp before shoving your leg off of her and scolding you.

“Whatever, you deserved it,” you said as you crossed your ankles and left them next to Tara, who was still facing the foot of the bed. “And for your information, it was fine. She didn’t try and kill me again,” you joked.

“A win is a win,” Tara replied as she moved to sit next to you and put the laptop on your lap while she cuddled up next to you. You put your arm around her waist and placed a platonic kiss on her head right when Sam walked in.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back later,” Sam said as she looked down at the floor and turned her back to you two, embarrassed that she had just walked in on an intimate moment between you and her sister and ignored the pain she felt in her heart. “No, it’s okay, Sam,” Tara said while pulling away from you and silently encouraging you to go after Sam even though she was still in the doorway.

“I thought you were sick?” Sam asked with her back still facing you two. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one without unveiling my grand scheme of things plan,” Tara said while getting up from her bed and turning Sam to face her, “I’m serious, Sam. Nothing is going on between me and Y/N.”

Sam looked away from her sister and saw you sitting on Tara’s bed, smiling as you sent her a small wave. The woman scoffed at your actions before returning to her room.

Once Sam was gone, Tara closed the door, walked over to you, and hit you in the stomach. “The fuck was that, Y/N?” She whisper-shouted at you, “I basically admitted to having a plan of forcing you and Sam together, and you fucking wave at her?”

“I didn’t know what you wanted me to do!” You defended.

Tara sighed at your statement; she had laid the groundwork, and then just like clockwork, the dominos were supposed to cascade in a line because she’s a mastermind, but your dumbass messed it up. “Go talk to Sam. Right. Now. Or so help me God, I will violently murder you to death,” Tara commanded as she pulled you from her bed and pushed you toward the door. “And do not come back until you have talked to her,” and with that, Tara shut the door in your face and locked it.

You sighed before walking toward the living room. You thought about sleeping on the couch, but you knew Tara would probably draw a penis on your face while you slept, so you sucked in a deep breath before walking toward Sam’s door.

Sam heard a gentle knock of three intervals at her door, pulling her away from her note. “Just a minute,” she said as she finished her writing and slipped it into a preselected page in the book.

“What’s up?” She asked once when she opened her door and saw you.

“I just wanted to ask you about the book,” you replied with a smile that Sam wanted to kiss off your lips.

Instead of doing what she desired, she left her door open while grabbing the book and handed it back to you. “This is the saddest book I have ever read. Who would come up with such a thing?”

You chuckled at her words and accepted the book, “I know. I take it; you finished it?”

“Barely. But I finished it in one sitting,” Sam said while staring into your love-struck eyes. Sam swore she could feel herself getting lost in them, and she never wanted to leave your eyes.

“So, what did you think of it?” You asked.

“It was alright. Some pages were hard to read because of the tear-stained pages.”

You lightly laughed at Sam’s words, and the older woman felt her heart might explode if she heard that soft laugh again. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. This book really gets to me, you know?” You said while your eyes quickly glanced down at Sam’s lips, wondering if they tasted as good as they looked.

Sam cleared her throat, and you knew you had been busted. “So, I guess I’ll have to treat you with respect now,” she admitted through a tightened jaw.

“Or whatever,” you said with a smile, hoping Sam picked up the double meaning, and she did.

“Yeah, or whatever.”

“Just so you know, nothing is going on between me and Tara,” you clarified after a few seconds, and you set the book down on the couch behind you.

Sam knew that there wasn’t anything between you and her sister, but hearing those words leave your lips gave Sam a feeling of comfort she didn’t know she needed. “I know, Y/N.”

“Okay. I just wanted to clarify that before I did this,” Sam didn’t even have time to react before she felt your hands grip her neck and pull her into a passionate kiss. The way your lips felt like they had been made for her lips amazed Sam, and she finally felt her heart explode when she matched your intensity.

Your lips danced together as Sam deepened the kiss and pulled you by your waist closer to her. You felt her tongue push past your lips, and an involuntary moan slipped out, causing Sam to laugh against your lips. When you felt Sam’s hands drift toward the bottom of your shirt, you lifted your arms, and Sam got halfway into taking it off before you two heard a voice behind you, “Goddamnit, Y/N! I told you to apologize, not swap spit with her!”

You pulled away from Sam and turned to face Tara, who smiled knowingly. “Sorry,” you mumbled while fixing your shirt.

An awkward beat of silence passed while Tara looked between you and her sister with a sly smirk on her lips before she finally said, “I’ll leave you two to it,” and walked away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sam said once Tara was gone. You turned to look at Sam, and you smiled at her swollen lips and blown pupils. You said nothing as you placed a final kiss on Sam’s lips that the older woman happily reciprocated.

“I should probably leave,” you mumbled against Sam’s lips, and she kissed you once more before pulling away. “Don’t forget your book,” Sam said while grabbing it for you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a tint of blush on your cheeks. Sam walked you to the door with her hand on the lower of your back, and you only wanted to run back into her room and throw Sam on her bed, but you doubted Tara would appreciate that.

When you reached the door, you placed a chaste kiss on Sam’s lips before opening up the door. “I’ll see you around?” You asked, afraid that this was a one-time thing.

Sam leaned against the doorframe, and she couldn’t contain the smile that pulled at her cheeks. “Of course, Y/N.”

You smiled at her and began walking down the hallway when Sam called out, “It's me and you, true blue.”

You placed a kiss on your pointer and middle finger before holding them toward Sam with a smile on your face. The woman laughed at your action and pretended to catch the fake kiss and her fist to her heart.

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

At home, you fall onto your couch and struggled to get your shoes off. Once they were off, you relaxed and pulled out the book and started reading it. When you ran your fingers over the pages, a small note fell out from the middle of the book and you moved to that page.

In the center of the page was a headline from Sub Rosa titled, ‘Evelyn Hugo and Celia St. James Slumber Parties,’ and you couldn’t help but laugh at the page.

When you opened up the note, written in the most beautiful penmanship said,

‘Want to go grab a milkshake with me sometime? I doubt we’ll find a place as good as Schwab’s, but we can try. We can also have ‘slumber parties’ of our own when Tara is away. ;)

All my love,

Samantha

Sam’

[marymary-diva17]

I decided to resubmit my request:

Tonowari x Fem Reader x Ronal (poly mates)/ Aonung x Tsireya x Rotxo x Fem Reader (platonic/parental relationship):

Back story on the Reader she has a scar on one of her eyes and is blind in that same eye, is mated to Tonowari and Ronal. Came up with this idea while listening to Beauty and the Beast by Kurt Hugo Schneider and Chase Holfelder.

Anyways, this will mostly focus on the Reader’s relationship with the children. Basically one day when the children go over to get the Sully’s they notice that Tsireya is not with them and they wonder why. So they do their training as normal and it’s the end of the day and Tsireya never showed up. And this paderen goes on for a while before one day none of the children show in tge morning and then the Sully children get really curious and try to find them only to see the they are fighting an adult (from an outsiders perspective). And they tell Kiri and Tuk to go find their parents while they go try to help. When the boys try to intervene they get beat and when the parents finally show up Jake is the first one to jump in and help the children. You choose how it ends. Thank you.

Tonowari x reader x ronal

Playing the role of warrior and mother had been something you had to learn to balance many years ago, as you had to balance your responsibilities to the clan and your people along with your responsibilities as a mother. It was not easy at the start but over time it become easy for you but there will be some struggles as well. There were times when playing the role of warrior and mother will be in sync, and there was no denying those roles. Even when it had involve your kids playing the role of warrior and mother was no denying the call

Tisreya “ mama” you are training with a wooden staff when you had heard Tsireya voice, you soon stopped what you were doing and looked at her. 

Y/n “ hello my sweet girl”

tisreya “ mama I came to ask you for some help” 

Y/n “ what the matter my love you can tell me”:

Tsireya “ if I tell you please don’t tell baba and mom please” 

Y/n “ sure my love so tell me what the matter I’m here to listen and help” you had placed some comforting hands on tisreya shoulder, as she soon looked up to you. 

Tsireya “ mama can you train me to defend myself, I want to be like you keeping the people safe with healing and defending them as well”

Y/n “ sure my love I can do that for you” tsireya smiled towards you and after that day, you had spent time teaching tsireya some ways to defend herself. Until you had to leave for a bit to visit some other clans,and during your time away new arrivals had come. 

Months later 

Neteyam “ hey guys we are ready for today lessons”

Loak “ hey where is Reya”the sully kids are gathered with Ao’nung and Rotox, but they are missing tisreya. 

Rotox “ oh she busy at the moment with some other matter”

Kiri “ what is that if you don’t me asking”

Ao’nung “ her own lesson that are private don’t worry she will be around” 

Loak “ aww I was hoping to see her today”

Tuk “ yes I wanted to see her as well” 

lo'ak " yeah tell us more about what she doing as she always here, leading the lessons"

rotxo " she busy with some private lessons like we said they are very important to her"

lo'ak " so what is she doing can we do it as well"

kiri " yeah it sounds very interesting and we have been perfecting everything else"

Neteyam “ come on you three we can see her later lets get on with our lessons"

lo'ak " fine we will go on with the lessons"

kiri " we will wait to see tisreya later on"

tuk " can we collect sea shells with her after she gets back"

aonung " sure tuk we can" the rest of the day had gone well with the lessons, there had been some questions and wonder about where tsireya had gone off to for the day. The sully kids had thought she was with ronal but when they pass by the healer hut she was not there, and then there was tonowari and she was not with them.

Later on that day

lo'ak " she has to be somewhere around here" the sully kids are looking for tsireya as she hadn't show up yet, and they are together as aonung and rotxo had been called awya by their father.

neteyam " I wonder where she could be"

kiri " we haven't been able to find her anywhere else yet and she not with ronal or tonowari"

tuk " I really wanted to see her today and show her I got better at swimming"

neteyam " you can show her when we find her"

lo'ak " wait I know where we can find her tisreya had showed me this beach she might be there" the group had nodded their head and followed lo'ak towards this beach when they heard the sound, of wood smack against each other and the sound of sand moving.

lo'ak " huh" the sully kids were hidden behind and massive rock as they peaked out to see tsireay was holding a staff in her hands, while she was fighting off someone that was unknown to the sully kids. eya.

lo'ak " we have to help her reya in danger that stranger is trying to attack her, what if that rda avatar"

neteyam " tuk kiri go get dad and tell tonowari what happing"

kiri " yes sure come on tuk quickly" the two girls had taken off as the boys had gotten out their blades ready to help tsireya again this outsider who might be with the rda. The two boys had gotten into position to run at the stranger and attack soon let out warrior calls.

With mother and daughter

y/n " you are getting good my daughter moving quickly in the sand, while carrying a staff defending yourself ... you are very good leaner"

tsireya " thanks mama"

y/n " in no time you will be able to knock down one any warrior teen or young adults, it will take time for you to take down an adult"

tisreya " yes mama" your soon stopped what you were doing as you heard something lifting up your hand, stopping the lessons as you look at your daughter.

tsireay " mama"

y/n " I feel something about to happen" you soon heard a call that gotten you attention you back had been turned, but you soon swag you staff knocking down who ever was coming near you.

tsireay " lo'ak neteyam" the two boys are now in the sand some of their body covered in sand and hair a bit a mess as well.

y/n " hello boys how may I help you both today"

lo'ak " leave tsireay alone you outsider"

y/n " so you are lo'ak and neteyam daughter you are right about them"

neteyam " daughter"

tsireya " this is my mama a good warrior as you can see"

y/n " I have to give you boys some praise you did a good attack and were fighting to defend my daughter along with saving her... that is good and makes you both warriors in spirt but you will need more time of learning" both boys look up at you as you were talking with them.

neteyam " that was amazing ma'am how did you heard us coming"

y/n " your footsteps and your call if you are going to sneak up, on someone you need to me much quieter then you both were right now"

lo'ak " thank you ... we never got your name"

y/n " I'm y/n and you boys are lucky I go easy on the youth of the clan then adults"

tsireya " she not lying" the boys had forgotten for that time that they sent their sisters to go get help, It was to late to say anything as you soon heard something else getting your attention. You had soon swag you staff hitting someone in the face, and another one in the chest. You had soon dropped the star as you had tossed one of them over you shoulder into the water, as another one came and you soon grabbed them and kicked them into the water. once that was over you soon kicked your staff into the air and caught it, soon pointing it towards the two adult males.

y/n " now see this what I do with adults that try to attack me from behind" you are looking at Jake sully and tsu'tey was they are in the water looking at you.

lo'ak " dad"

neteyam " uncle tsu'tey"

y/n " oh so family" soon some other warriors had come along with tonowari.

tonowari " y/n jake tsutery"

y/n " tonowair good we all each other name good for us all"

Jake " I was told by my daughetrs that this women here was attacking your daughter and that my sons came to help her" tonowari and the metkayian warriors had fallen out laughing.

tsu'tey " what going on" Jake and Tsu'tey had gotten out of the water and soon looked at group, they were feeling a bit embarrassed as well.

tonowari " she my second mate and tsireya mom she will never hurt trsireya"

y/n " yes I was out here with my daughter and I'm no outsider to the clan"

tonowari " what were you two doing out here anyways"

tisreya " well mama has been training me baba in defending myself"

tonowari " yawne"

y/n " she asked and I said yes you and ronal are not the only ones that can help out kids learn, and she doing well"

tonowari " we are going to talk about this later" you had nodded your head and looked at Tsireya smiling, knowing that there will be some fuss but either one of you will be in trouble. After the whole scene was calmed down the group had went back to the village, there were some questions asked towards you and you answered them. It seems like you had won over the sully family and their clan, tonowari and ronal were a bit upset about the whole lesson but soon came to terms with it seeing the tsireya loved it and was learning as well.

[nose-rice]

Guys I NEED to rant about my thoughts on Nuru because i love her <3 ramblings ahead

Like I feel like in almost every fic i read, she's just like, a side character that's there to make whitty remarks to Hugo and be the levelheaded one. If she has an insecurity or problem it's usually pretty surface level and solved quickly, or only mentioned once or twice. I think there are SO many aspects of her character that are so cool.

Okay first, I think we sometimes forget that she's a nerd just like the rest of the gang. Yes, on the outside she's definetly the most 'normal' one, but I think we should concider the fact that she's the only girl in the group, and she's literal royalty. She was raised with a completely different set of standards than the other three. I don’t think I've really ever seen anyone cover that. I feel like she would get called "mature for her age" when she's only 15/16, and almost always gets critisism when she talks back with her own ideas (like her concerns about the meteor shows for example). I feel like out on her journey, she would finally get the freedom to just be herself, and be a kid and be able to rant on about her intrests with the rest of the group. It could be a struggle at first, but it would be awesome to see her getting more comfortable with the group the longer they spend together! Nerds encouraging nerdy rants lol

Since she is a kingdom figurehead, you could also argue that she always has a lot on her hands (especially since she's very proactive when it comes to science and solving problems). This could bring up a need to be productive, or always feeling like she needs to make the right decision, even for the littlest things.

I also feel like a lot of the time she's potrayed as the "right" one, who is 100% right when it comes to stuff like arguing with Hugo. Since they're opposites when it comes to class, they often are compared through that lense. I think it's cool just having Nuru tell Hugo off for judging a book by its cover, but I feel like they have a lot more in common than they realize. I think it would be interesting to see Nuru judging a book by its cover too. Maybe not to the degree that Hugo does, but I feel like calling out both their judging would not only call out character flaws, but it also enforces that even though they hate eachother and would never want to be like the other, they have a lot of the same flaws.

Also, being sheltered in a palace her whole life, I think she might think kind of black and white sometimes, and while she knows when people are just being mean as an act, she might struggle when it comes to people like reformed criminals.

Maybe she's able to be meaner to Hugo because she justifies it by telling herself he's criminal, and therefore bad, possibly glossing over the reasons he might be like that (maybe it crosses her mind, but she tells herself it's not a good enough reason, because stealing is still stealing, and he literally steals EVERYTHING. Even little trinkets and stuff he definitely doesn't need!). When they find out about Varian's criminal history, maybe she reexamines her views on morality and how she used to see people, because by her standards, Varian is a 'bad guy' who's caused harm to SO many people, but he's also the kind, caring, helpful friend that she's been traveling with who would never willingly hurt anyone.

Moving on to Amber x Nuru, I honestly never find myself liking the ship because Amber isn't developed enough which is fine. I don't think every character has to be a magnificent work of art. Side characters are side characters, but their romance is usually written like: "wow that girl is cute! I have a crush now!" Which is cool, but then that's about as far as it gets, then timeskip! Or offscreen they're a couple now. I know it's a side couple so it won't have as much devlopment as something like Varigo, but I never really see their dynamic play out in different situations. Like I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like they solely exist to be a couple? Amber sometimes just feels like an extention of Nuru, and their relationship feels surface level a lot of the time.

I feel like too often she's just watered down to the nice, smart, grounded friend, and I don't know I just think there’s so much more to explore with her. She’s not just some side character. She's literally part of the main cast! Even in fanart I feel like she doesn't really get a lot of stuff besides funny art and just like, pictures meant to look pretty. Unlike something you get a lot with characters like Varian or Hugo.

And honestly I get it. Some characters you just don't take an intrest in. I know I find Varian, Hugo, and Nuru more relatable than I find Yong, but I feel like part of that is developing their characters rather than just seeing them on a surface level. Ofc there are exceptions and there are some stories that dive deeper into Nuru's character out there! I just happen to see this A LOT.

Wow i said "surface level" a lot didn't I 😭😭

Anyway thank you for reading my rant i wanna know what you guys think!!

[transrevolutions]

I know thematically Grantaire standing up with Enjolras is supposed to be the middle class rising up but I’m confused to how he got there. Can you point out the chapter where Grantaire changes his mind and embraces revolution? I thought he just rants, falls asleep and wakes up in time to die with Enjolras.

That's the thing! Grantaire doesn't join in the fighting, or help with the barricade during the battle. He does just rant, fall asleep, and wake up in time to die with Enjolras. But Enjolras isn't the only moving piece here, so to speak.

Him waking up in time to die with Enjolras is him embracing revolution. But it's not just (or even primarily) because "oh Enjolras was there and Grantaire is in love with Enjolras and has an innate brain buzzer that goes off whenever Enjolras is in danger near him".

(Explanation under the cut for length)

When Grantaire falls asleep, he says "let me sleep here- until I die". This is another expression of his characteristic cynicism about the whole thing- at this point, the barricade is not in immediate danger and things are actually going quite well with its construction. There's no solid reason to assume any of them are definitely going to die... unless you're Grantaire, who thinks revolution is just doomed.

When he wakes up, things are entirely different. The barricade has been overrun. Many of the insurgents are dead. The government has not been toppled and the soldiers have breached the tavern. When Grantaire awakens, he is explicitly described as immediately perceiving what has occurred ("the drunkard... is aware of how things stand"). All at once, he comes to the realization that the government has just killed his very close friends.

Another quote in the OFPD sequence goes "The fuddle of drunkenness, a kind of vapour that blinds the brain, dissipates and gives way to the clear, obsessive, sharply defined claims of reality". This is about literal drunkenness, of course, but I believe also about the nature of Grantaire's philosophy. All of a sudden, the man who previously "had no strong feelings against this government" is seeing and acknowledging just how horrible it is, and how standing against it is a necessity, not merely foolishness.

Grantaire has every selfish reason (which Hugo has earlier derided as being a flaw of the same non-revolutionary inactive subsect of the populace that Grantaire is posited to represent) to just. continue not to act! He could quite possibly fake sleep and save himself and twist these circumstances to prove his worldview correct and justified (that revolution will always fail, that it's not worth the sacrifice, that nothing can change, etc.)

But he doesn't.

He stands up and says "Long live the Republic". Not long live Enjolras. Not even long live the ABC Society, or long live my friends, or anything referencing solely the 'personal' losses he's just incurred. No, he says "Long live the Republic"- the greater cause. The ideological cause. The abstract principle which the others fought for, and which he'd so frequently mocked. He's not even purely reactive to his circumstances in this instance! He has an actual political conviction!

And then he goes and stands and dies beside Enjolras (who, for his part, has been fully on board with this cause since his introduction). This is the scion of the apathetic, self-serving, mind-your-own-business portion of the populace, and he is standing beside the representative of the involved, committed, politically engaged, revolutionary portion of the populace. It's foreshadowing of a possible- probable- inevitable future in which all gain conviction and take a stand for the freedom and equality of humanity.

[fluentisonus]

sorry this is just a running thought process so very unedited but one of the big failures I feel like with the whole situation in montreuil sur mer -- and this is not really jean valjean's fault bc like. he's just some guy who has been outside of society for nearly twenty years and was making this up as he went along & learning & making mistakes as he went -- is that it was all based around charity rather than much actual systematic or solid structural change. which like again I don't really think as a small town mayor in the early 19th century he was really in a position to wholesale restructure anything, so he really was just working with what he had to hand, but I do keep thinking that part of his whole dilemma in 'a tempest in skull' -- i.e. if he turns himself in then the whole system of schools & hospitals & pensions for old people & support for the poor he's set up will essentially collapse -- really shows the failure of charity on its own to accomplish any lasting change. like even if champmathieu hadn't turned up what would have happened to the town if/when he died? the same thing quite probably I'd imagine. tbh I think you could potentially make an argument in fact that the book's position on charity in many ways is that it really does help in the moment individually or in communities but it does nothing really to get at or change the root causes of poverty, & m sur m is to me an example of that -- although I'm not entirely sure how much hugo himself saw the situation in m-sur-m as a flaw (well. he obviously saw valjean's situation re champmathieu itself as a genuinely sticky moral problem, but whether he saw the fundamental basis for the system valjean set up in m sur m as a problem I can't really tell). but anyways I've just been thinking this one over as I reread the champmathieu bit

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [1]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: You meet a stranger in the stables.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have totally made up servant/nobel dynamics because I wanted to and also let's forget about the plot of the film, yes?

Warnings: kissing, reader is in their early 20s, overuse of italics, typos, power dynamics because he's the king, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2820

________________________________

It wasn’t that going to the royal castle was boring, as much as it was exhausting. And very, very boring, now that you thought about it. 

You were the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court for the spring festival with her son, The Earl of Bowhale, a man who was only seven months your senior. They were both on average kind, well-meaning people, even if they were set in their own ways, who paid well and certainly granted you with a degree of personal freedom that you knew many servants didn’t even dream of. 

Hugo, the Earl, was his mother’s, Edith, only surviving child. A fact that obviously made The Countess fiercely protective, however in the last few years that shielding behaviour had metamorphosed into a safeguarding of a different kind: the continuation of the family name. 

Barely a day passed without her bringing up the need for her son to either marry (a complicated matter) or take a mistress.

Which was why she had been hell bent on attending the spring festival to peruse a suitable noble from the court, believing that ‘seeing a young woman face to face is the only way to tell if she would be a good mother to her son’s children.’ 

You helped The Countess into her dress for the evening, making sure you nodded and said, “yes, my lady”, at all the correct moments as she spoke. 

“I think there will be some chance of seeing a suitable suitor tonight, if not tomorrow. I know most of the court is present, but many outer nobles are not arriving until the morning.” 

“Yes, my lady.” You adjusted her skirts. 

“Hugo needs to seriously consider his future, the legacy of his father’s name.” She sighed. “I spoke to him again this morning.” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“He is as insolent as ever. His father was never like this. I do not know where he gets it from.” 

You smile, “Perhaps his lordship takes his strong-willed nature from his mother, my lady?” 

She looks down at your grinning face and laughs at your tease. “You are terrible my dear,” but she beams and puffs out her chest, enjoying the praise. “And far too kind on him, there’s no way his will could match my own.” 

You laugh, and are about to speak when the door to The Countess's rooms open and Hugo barges in. 

“Mother, I- Oh,” he gives you a little smile and half bow as a greeting. You nod back.

“So I see she is deserving of a formal greeting and not I?” The Countess scows, but you know from experience that if someone had entered without acknowledging you they would have also faced reprimand. 

Hugo pulls a face. “Mother-”

“And what about knocking Hugo? Since we are in his highness’s house, on his highness’s hospitality I do not think that forgoing manners should be our way forward.” 

He sighs, but nods, before waiting for a moment to see if she will continue talking. 

The Countess nods. 

You stand up, watching them going back and forth in their regular verbal sparing matches.

“Mother, is it completely necessary for me to join-”

“You surely are not speaking of the possibility of not attending tonight? Are you?” 

“Mother-”

“Because if you were, I would be-”

“It wouldn’t be anything, an Earl can retire to his-”

“An Earl would not insult the hospitality of his King.” 

“Mother-”

She held up her hands. “I will hear nothing of it.” 

Hugo sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“And what are you wearing? You are covered in mud.” She tutted.

“I was riding and-”

“Riding? At this hour?” 

He nodded. “Some of the knights and other Earls went to the forest and-”

The Countess tutted dramatically. 

“I was going to take Stefen to the stable and brush him down instead of attending.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “You intended to brush your horse instead of attending? There are servants for that exact duty Hugo.” 

He shrugged frowning, you knew how much he enjoyed taking care of his horse. “I do not trust the staff here, they do not know Stefen, they-”

The Countess shook her head, “you are attending. Go, get bathed and dress, Robert will assist you.” 

“But Mother, Stefen-”

The Countess turned to you quickly, “Will you do me the favour of going to the stables and getting Stefen ready for the night?” She smiled kindly at you and you nodded.

“Of course my lady.”

“See?” She turned to her son. “Now we have a trusted member of staff to care for him.” She said triumphantly. “Or do you not trust her to look after him here?” 

Hugo gave you an apologetic look, he hadn’t meant to lump you with the task. But you smile back, and he returns a weak nod. 

“Of course that’s fine,” he said defeated. 

You often groomed Stefen, he was a powerful and grumpy animal that tended to only obey four people, Hugo, the two main stable hands at Bowhale, and you. He tolerated others for the most part, but was quite difficult when something set him off. 

“Good.” The Countess clapped her hands together. 

.

You finished helping The Countess get ready before you stepped out of her rooms and headed for the stables. The evening light was just starting to dim into twilight. 

Hugo caught up with you on the stairs, gently touching your arm to get your attention.

“I’m so sorry.” 

You smile kindly, “what for, my lord?” 

“Making you settle Stefen in, I,” he sighed, “I could have easily done it earlier, I just wanted an excuse to… not go…”

Your smile widened. “I know, Hugo, please don’t worry, besides, I like taking care of Stefen.”

He gives you a grin, his spirit lifting as they always did when you used his first name. “Thank you, I-”

“Hugo!” The far-off call of The Countess echoed around the castle and you chuckled while he groaned. 

“Have fun!” You waved as you continued down the stairs. 

He nodded disheartenedly. 

. 

You got a little lost on your way to the stables and had to ask a stern looking guard the way. When you arrived and introduced yourself to the head stable hand the poor man looked relieved. 

Stefan greeted you happily, and had no qualms about letting you brush and clean the mud and grime from his coat. Much to the other stable hands's shock. 

It wasn’t long before the sky was dark and you were left alone in the stables with the horses. 

“You need to be nicer to others Stefan.” You scowled with a grin. 

He whinnied, seeming to laugh playfully at you as you stroked his neck. 

“That’s a beautiful horse.” 

The low voice behind you made you jump and you spun around quickly. Stefan sensed your discomfort, snorting and stepping forward to try to put himself between you and the stranger. 

“It’s alright,” you hushed, patting his side and calming him. You turned to where the voice had come from, the stranger’s outline was just visible in the low candlelight. “Thank you, it is The Earl of Bowhale’s horse.” 

“A fine beast for sure.” The stranger nodded, but did not step closer. “I have heard he has a temper.” 

You smile and nod. “He is a little set in his ways, strong-willed,” you stroke Stefan affectionately, “but he is a loyal companion if you earn his trust.”

“And it seems that you have.” 

You smile again at the stranger. “I would like to think so, The Earl and I used to train him when he was a colt. He is used to me.” 

“You ride?” 

“A little,” you turn back to Stefan briefly as he nudges your shoulder and stroke him again, “occasionally I accompany The Earl or Countess when they wish.” 

“Hmm.” 

“And what of you stranger? Do you ride, or are you just of this disposition to watch horses while they rest and harass servants with questions?” You tease playfully. 

He chuckles lightly and waits a beat before he steps closer and leans against the wood of Stefan’s stall. The flame light flickers against his features and dread grips your inside in its icy hold. 

You freeze for a second, eyes wide before you bow your head and curtsy as low as you can. “Your Highness, I apologise, I did not realise it was you in the dark.” 

Your mind rushes with thoughts, you were going to get punished, put in the stocks, maybe even imprisoned, why wasn’t he at the event? Why was he here seemingly stalking about in the dark? 

He wasn’t wearing his crown, his clothing obviously expensive but not the attire for entertaining the court. 

King John laughed again, but the sound wasn’t unkind. “You were all for questioning me a second ago, am I so fierce that you can’t even raise your head to look at me?” 

You keep your position, looking down, panicking on what to do, how to-

“Hmm?” He hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “Has the servant lost her voice?” 

You shake your head. “No, Your Highness.” 

“Then answer my question.” His voice is low, nearly a growl. The pretence of softness hiding something much sharper underneath. 

“You are fierce, Your Highness.” You whisper and he grins. 

“And yet, you look at me?” He keeps his touch on your chin light.

“You are making me, Your Highness.” The words slip from your tongue before you truly have a chance to understand them and you screw your face up the second they are spoken. 

But he laughs quietly and drops his hand to his side. “There, I wonder what you will do under your own will.” 

You pause and swallow, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes and looking back up at him. 

His grin widens. He observes you for a moment, the look in his eyes dark, predatory. And for a second you are sure that you made the wrong choice. 

“Stand,” he says, his voice still soft and you obey slowly, “much better, I do not need you to stay in a curtsy, my pride is not so vast that I need to have everyone at my feet.” 

You stay quiet, biting at your lip and pulling at the skin around your nails, but watch him carefully.

“You are Edith Bowhale’s personal attendant, are you not?” 

“I am.” You nod, not wanting to fall short and lose whatever small grace has decided to put you in the King’s favour and not chagrin. 

He hums a response, looking away from you for a second and you can feel relief flood your veins as you are out of his sharp glare. The consolation is short lived however, as he quickly stares back at you. 

“She was speaking to me about many things, though I have to admit upon seeing you I wished I had been paying more attention.” He smiles, his voice like silk as he takes a step closer.

You pause for a second, your mind slow to catch up with the meaning of his words. “I, wait, I’m sorry, Your Highness, I-”

He chuckles and brushes his fingers against your cheek, a light touch that makes you jump and startle back. 

“So skittish,” he teases, “over just a touch.” 

“I-”

“A touch from your King no less,” he tuts, “I should be insulted.”

“No, that’s not, not my intention, I-”

Stefan whinnies, seemingly unhappy with how close the King is getting to you and King John uses your brief distraction to his advantage. He grabs hold of your bicep and pulls you out of the stall and swings the wooden door closed. 

You can hear Stefan neighing in distress as he pushes you up against the door, his griping your arm tight. 

“Calm the horse.” He says softly, his piercing eyes seeming to sink into your very soul.

You swallow, your mouth dry, but tap the door. “Stefan,” you say softly. 

The horse calms slightly at your voice.

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” you repeat your words a few times until you hear him start to settle and wish they could have the same effect on you. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat. 

He delights for a moment in your obvious discomfort. “My, my, I have never seen a servant to a Countess so shy.” 

You stay quiet, heat rising to your skin. You try to focus on his mouth, but no matter how hard you try you are drawn back to his striking eyes, as if he holds some bewitching magic to keep you under his control. 

Slowly he raises his left hand up, giving you plenty of time to see it before he gently touches his fingertips to your cheek, lightly stroking your skin. You still jump a little, naturally trying to flinch away. 

It makes him smile even more, taking a deep pleasure in your flustered reaction. He breathed in deeply, as if he were savouring a flower, “aw, what’s wrong? Does the little servant not know how to address her King? How to behave in his presence?” 

“I… I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

He grins wickedly at how timid you have seemingly become. “Now, now,” he teases, his voice thick and heavy, “there’s no need to apologise with those words… how about you tell me something sweet instead?” 

You frown in confusion, “something sweet?” 

He leans a little closer, caging you in. “Something nice.” He languidly runs his fingers down lower, along your jaw and to your neck. Your racing heartbeat drums against his fingers and a giddy thrill runs down his spine. 

“I…”

“Something nice,” he repeats, “something that you could never normally say to someone like me, something that will make me smile.” 

Once again your words slip out of your mouth as if you had no control over them, his hypnotic gaze seemingly completely destroying your survival instinct, “you’re beautiful,” you whisper. 

He freezes the moment you utter the words, your eyes going wide as you realise what you said. The syllables of your sentence seemingly echo around the stable, ringing and repeating clearly in your mind as if you had screamed them from the rooftops. 

A faint dusting of pink highlights his cheeks, but thankfully you cannot see it in the candlelight, he smiles slowly, moving his hand up and tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Repeat that.” He breaths. 

Your heart beats so forcefully you’re sure you're going to faint. “You’re so very beautiful.” 

He chuckles, leaning closer until his nose bumps against yours and preening a little at the compliment. “You know such words from such an unexpected source only mean more… thank you.” 

He dissolves the last centimetres separating you and presses his lips to yours, swallowing down your little gasp of surprise and licking into your mouth without hesitation. His hand is warm on your neck, his body pressing up against yours as if he expects you to push him away, to run. Instead, your fingers sink into his shirt, pulling him closer as you kiss him back with equal further, a lamb happily going to the slaughter. 

He growls, low in the chest when you reciprocate, heat blooming in his lower stomach as he pushes even closer and rubs his quickly hardening cock against your hip. 

You gasp a little in surprise, but quickly regain yourself, wrapping your arm around his neck and urging him closer, needing to feel every part of him. 

This couldn’t be real, this was impossible, you had to be dreaming. Maybe Stefan had reared up as you brushed him and you’d stumbled and hit your head, it was seemingly the only logical conclusion. You might as well enjoy this delusion as long as it lasted. 

His kisses grow more demanding, more urgent and he nips at your bottom lip, groaning at your high-pitched sigh. And then whining himself when you repeat the action on him, forcing your tongue into his mouth and pulling sweet sounds from his lips. 

There was-

The stable door slams open, “Your Highness, I have come to-”

King John turns furiously, “What?” He yells at the poor servant sent to fetch him. 

It’s like a dam has been broken, your mind snaps back to your senses. What were you doing? What the hell were you doing? Kissing The King in a barely lit stable. 

The servant stammers a little, saying something that you can’t for the life of you hear. He is silhouetted in the darkness, unseeable and the King steps closer, giving him a verbal dressing down.

You slip out the side door, and rush back to your room. Thankful for the clouded night sky that keeps your face in shadow and identity hidden from possible prying eyes. 

____________________________________

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[dolphin1812]

M Myriel pretty directly states it, but it was interesting to read this:

"“In case of epidemics,—we have had the typhus fever this year; we had the sweating sickness two years ago, and a hundred patients at times,—we know not what to do.”

“That is the thought which occurred to me.”

“What would you have, Monseigneur?” said the director. “One must resign one’s self.”

This conversation took place in the gallery dining-room on the ground floor."

The distribution of space, as M Myriel points out, defies logic, but it's socially expected because of class differences: the bishop has a mansion for himself and two others while the hospital is overcrowded. It's true that the director couldn't ask Myriel for this space and that Myriel's offer mainly showcases his charitable nature and true commitment to helping his community, even at a personal cost. At the same time, I found the mention of "resignation" fascinating. Myriel isn't only noticing that keeping this much space for himself that he doesn't need when others do and he's responsible for serving them is unjust; he's refusing to accept a problem as unsolvable and to resign himself to the existing system. Myriel, then, is not only distinguished by his charity. He's also hopeful and persistent.

Of course, he can't solve every problem individually (Hugo himself points that out in this chapter). He also isn't calling for systemic change, exactly. For instance, while he indirectly critiques the luxury in which some churchmen live while supposedly serving the poor when switching out his mansion for the hospital, we don't see him directly criticize anyone else here. He's only focusing on his immediate community and his own actions. His charity is also in line with the expected role of a bishop, even if he's especially zealous in fulfilling his duties. Despite that, it's interesting to note that Myriel's hopefulness and persistence in the face of these social issues -- his mindset -- set him apart as much as his values. Although the title of the book leaves a certain impression (as do many of its sadder sections), it's ultimately a hopeful work (we saw this in the preface as well! The novel is needed "so long as" these social problems exist, implying that they could disappear one day). Myriel starts us off by showing the difference that a real commitment to improving the lives of others can have when paired with that hope and willingness to question social norms.

[joaofelix70]

A CRESCENT LOVE, AN EPHEMERAL PASSION | joão félix sequeira.

summary: you and joão spent all the summer together. you even met his friends and brother. could this be the beginning of a crescent love or just an ephemeral passion? his friendship with his ex would ruin everything between the two of you?

author's notes: after the win against luxemburgo, where portugal national team set the record of goals, his ex just posted "mysterious" pics with floki, his dog. joão was also there, almost hidden, actually. we all know she always does it, never assuming anything maturely, but instigating the frustration of the fans who care about him and to make every gossip website and tv show talk about it, just like a teenager who wants attention would act. basically, this inspired me. i really don't hate anyone, by the way. even thought influencers who don't spread any impactful content and nepobabies with no talent and only standard beauty annoys me, i can't lie.

warnings: bad language (of course it's joão saying the words), chaotically humorous almost all the time, but also involving sadness and angst. implicit sex reference, i guess? maybe?

what do you feel when you hear my name? shame? embarrassment?

does your brain even bring you any sign or memory involving me?

do you ever think about me?

are your moments with her comparable to ours?

can we talk? can we communicate?

is it my fault? do you miss me?

your head was drunk for the whirlwinds of questions that piled up and get bigger, like waves. they seemed to be drowning you. the glowing light and peace of your woody brown gaze gives you triggers. his smile remains embedded, in your heart, an eternal home. the numbness and wrapping of his lips, every inch of his tanned skin and firm muscles being appreciated and admired by you. his hair was shiny, soft and full by the salty waters of the european beaches: always caressed for you. his laughs at you giving him the most silly and lazy hairstyles, with you pretending to be a professional who was filming your customer to tiktok.

“do that pose! yes, your hand against your face! now, give me that playboy eye. just like that! you’re doing amazing, sweetie!”

when you get carried away in the game ‘who am i?’ and tried so hard doing the mimes, jumping excitedly and demonstrating your animation in a loud tone, before covering your own mouth and feigning naturalness, just to repeat the same instant acts.

when you made joão watch your random dances as soon as you won at uno and he’d tell how hilarious you were. when you cooked your regional foods and desserts for félix, his brother who’s hugo, alex — the photographer — diogo from the movemind channel and all of his friends. when he used to hold your face, rest his touch on your waist and thighs. tracing his fingerprints across your scalp, reveling in the ethereal smell of your hair, laying his lips against your entire face and stature, exalting you completely: from your ears, neck, collarbone, belly, legs and even your feet. being a gentleman, joão opened the car door for you, he intertwined the hands of you both in every single opportunity and helped you eat: having the cutlery for you to open your mouth and giving you support with the napkin. when you did his goal celebration. when the two of you invented a handshake, along with various inside jokes. for example, when joão posted many videos of him swimming and playing in the ocean.

“hey, flounder! ‘the little mermaid’? i loved it!”

“why am i not your ariel, tho?”

“why you didn’t say you’d prefer to be eric of the real life?”

“give me some respect, i’m the protagonist of this shit!”

“slay, king!”

you remember singing the songs that played in his car in the most chaotic way, using his hand as a microphone and taking the opportunity to kiss all over it and his fancy bracelets. you offered him affection biting his skin and enjoyed acting like his personal masseuse. you called him ‘my prince of portugal’.

“please, don’t become a stranger.” your last words, face to face. the intensity of the summer weeks of vacation, which were already ending, consuming you.

“you know i’d never do that. look, you’re such a unique person, and even though we’re gonna go back to our busy routines, i still wanna keep you in my life. i still wanna be that close to you.” joão declared and they both found comfort in each other’s arms. his perfume granted the beg leave and penetrated your lungs, giving you life. you felt like you shouldn’t let it go, but there was nothing else to accomplish. you were single, so was he. you ask yourself if everything would be different. maybe if you had tried your lips once again: asking him to give a chance to them, to have more. to not leave what you went through, together, in the box of forgotten memories. would that really suffice, though?

"it's obvious that you’d choose the blonde influencer with light eyes, slender body and member of a rich family. the one who was with a formula 1 racer days before she went to meet you. before you just disappear from my life, without saying anything. the one that doesn't show an ounce of authenticity and, of course, affective responsibility. who am i in comparison to her?! right, joão?" your voice flashed the disparity of fragility and indignation, trembling hands clutching the phone.

“y/n, listen to me. you’d never understand it, okay? you’re not inside this relationship, me and her are. you’re seeing it from the outside, just like everyone else. yeah, she was hanging out and making out with other people. so was i with you. but then, some things changed.” john seemed to be busy. echoes of other people's voices ran through the call.

“nothing has happened between us since the vacation, joão. what doesn’t make sense because i thought you were liking me. i only think about you!” you vented out and received silence. his answers tried to become existent and complete. he stammered, the audible sound of his familiar backwards cap being pulled off and his honey-colored hair being rubbed against his own fingerprints.

“do you think i don’t like you? holy shit, y/n. i even thought we could have so much more. a future together and everything. i think about you and i swear in the name of my family, and i already said that they mean the fucking world to me. the thing is: there’s something that still keep me going back to her. i don’t know if it’s because i’m with her since i was younger, but…”

“joão, this is emotional dependence. i’m sorry to tell you this, however, it’s necessary. i care about you. you’re so internally and externally beautiful, precious, successful and talented. you deserve better!” you interrupted him, stepping back and forth.

“y/n, i love her. when i looked at you…”

“she’s all that you see, right?”

“hm… yeah…” félix found himself in a bind. paralyzed, he remained without an answer for a while. the coldness of the material of his gold necklace touches his tongue: a way to combat the nervousness that generates the gnawed nails.

“my toxic behavior wants to help and fix you so badly, but i know i can’t get more involved than that. i’m not the one for you.” the words reproduced by yourself reinforced the fragmentation of your heart.

“j, baby… are you coming or not? i’m waiting for you, floki is waiting for his dad!” you heard that female voice call to him and realized the way that just this factor made his breathing destabilize.

“i think this is officially the end of whatever we had, joão. goodbye!” your voice was unstable and he realized it: sharp as deep, transparent and suffocating waters.

“i wish you the best, y/n. i apologize for not being what you expected, what you needed, and…”

“caralho, joão! que merda! (holy fuck, joão! what the hell?). come on, give me your phone!” the girl began to rant. her heels against the floor were exclamatory. she was running out of patience.

the call is over. again, you were superimposed on the ocean of blazing tears. you tried to convince yourself that everything went the way it was supposed to be.

but was it for real?

[sarahreesbrennan]

sorry if you have already answered this, but are we getting any queer rep in Long Live Evil? 💕 i am super excited to see what you've cooked up for us either way!

I came back after I'd gone off on one, seeing the post had struck a chord and being thankful but fearful of my inbox. Let me say with delighted surprise that all the asks are very kind.

Thank you for this one, sweet anon. I am so excited and so nervous about my best beloved, Long Live Evil, and about coming back with a new book of my own after so long, when I believed for a long time it was hopeless.

I'm really grateful to find readers waiting for me. But I know readers are naturally more invested in characters they know: I extremely appreciate you taking an interest in the future.

So, short answer: YEAH you are!

Long answer: Long Live Evil wouldn't exist without its queer narratives.

C.S. Pacat and I were talking in our virtual Brookline Booksmith event recently about our favourite Disney villains. C.S. Pacat picked Maleficent, a fine choice. I picked Snow White's Evil Queen. We agreed we loved most of them.

Here's the relevant excerpt I was quoting in my last post from Carmen Maria Machado's In The Dream House, saying 'I think a lot about queer villains, the problem and pleasure and audacity of them.' Well... me too.

I think many of us have experienced feeling made wrong in some way - for not wanting what society said we should or being what we were expected to be - and that one step along that journey of discovery is going 'Okay, if it's wicked, I'll just BE wicked.' And that's part of why those characters appeal - because they seem free, and free of pain.

But modern storytelling isn't confined to coding, and audiences can now feel free to expect, not the certainty, but the possibility characters who aren't introduced as such still might actually turn out to be LGBT+. The essays I've read about Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Sherlock, Ted Lasso, Fox 9-1-1... I think the latest argued Jaime Lannister was bisexual. (Pretty persuasive.)

I remember reading the Raven Cycle going 'oh? OH.' I remember being at a writing retreat in 2013 and running through the halls screaming about Nico diAngelo. Ten years later we got a Nico diAngelo book co-written by Rick Riordan and the amazing Mark Oshiro. I watched Red, White and Royal Blue with a friend and she said 'honestly I hope the guys get together, but...' and I (having read the book) silenced myself with a herculean effort and watched her hopes come true. I didn't know about The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and almost dropped the book in a swimming pool. But I've also read and watched many things thinking, just maybe... oh, no. Still that hope existing is meaningful, the thought that if the story had gone differently, if this revelation had happened, if this realisation had happened, if, if, if...

Long Live Evil is a story about the story going differently and asking yourself questions about your own nature, and the escape to fiction of those who really need escape. The book is based on that 'if,' and the 'if' itself is joyous, and brings me back to the idea of gleefully transgressing the narrative that much villain love is based on.

It's also an ensemble story with a rogue's gallery of characters and multiple PoVs. (I was much inspired by the Six of Crows ensemble.) So it isn't about any one character's romance, and by the book's nature there exist many possibilities. A critique partner read and said 'I didn't know you were going THERE' and I responded 'Should I?'

I've never been one to confirm where stories are going, and I won't do so now. I'm not talking about any one character or telling you a direction.

I'm just saying yes to rep. It's baked in.

[maxwell-grant]

Thoughts on the master of fear, Scarecrow? Also, fave design, he has so many good ones (second BTAS, his trading card one, mistress of fear, Gaslight,, fear for sale, the Arkham Games etc)?

Hey so, do any of you remember Batman Live? It was this really fun, extravagant stage show that touched on a lot of Batman hallmarks and was generally a really fun time as far as I recall. I went to the São Paulo premiere with my family, and I was a little too young to really recall most of it now, but some things I definitely remember like the huge Joker hot air balloon made of performers in bodypaint, or the comedy sequences in the Iceberg Lounge. The one thing that stuck with me the most was when the Scarecrow showed up. Batman goes to Arkham Asylum and the entire comedy camp tone drops dead, as he walks in and finds all these bodies in straightjackets hanging from chains, and the doors open as The Scarecrow walks towards him in stilts, summoning loud smoke eruptions that are poisoning and weakening Batman as he leers over him. That part actually did scare me as a kid, and it was probably the first time I had any kind of feelings on Scarecrow imprinted in me.

I was introduced to The Scarecrow as this uniquely horrifying villain who could terrify through presentation alone. I didn't particularly understand what the fear gas was, I was too taken with that ungainly thing up there with the stilts and all those people turned into cadaverous decorations, lurking from the endless halls of the asylum, who towered over everyone and placed Batman into a writhing breakdown with a few gestures, and never appeared again until the cast roll, completely absent from the rogues gatherings after. Granted, of course that's because the stilts prevented him from joining the fight scenes, but that helped to reinforce his mystery. He wasn't someone Batman was going to punch back, no no, the Scarecrow simply vanished as soon as he was done with disarming Batman, and you'd just have to pray for that unfathomable creep to never show up again.

And I'd say this might be part of why I've never been too big on the fear gas, in part because I was first enraptured by a version of The Scarecrow who clearly didn't need it that much, or at least, could do much more besides it. The Scarecrow is, I'd say actually one of my top 10 DC characters, half of that on the basis of his designs, but he's a character who tends to really, really struggle under a lack of cohesion and being subordinate to his gimmick, much more so than the other rogues. The fear gas is a good gimmick, but it is just that, a gimmick, and one that's usually reliant on how far can the story push the horror and the visuals to at least make it effectively scary for us, otherwise it gets incredibly boring very fast, and it's not even a gimmick exclusive to him since so many other characters have similar mind control/illusion abilities/gadgetry at hand (and to say nothing of Hugo Strange, who first used fear gas and who quite frankly kicks the Scarecrow's ass in terms of quality storylines, although Hugo does that to most of the other Batman villains too)

The Scarecrow has become the go-to character for hallucination sequences / revisiting character traumas, which frequently makes him less of a character and more so a convenient plot device, a problem heightened by the larger issue here that is his inconsistent motivation, or lack thereof. He lacks the kind of "breakout" stories that his fellow major Batman villains have had that usually cement an ongoing characterization, and his most famous/celebrated appearences in mass media don't really do much to combat the assertion that he is shallow and weak and whose only asset is the gas (namely, his boss fights in Arkham Asylum, which are all about the fear gas hallucination scares, and his role in Nolan's Batman, which is very fun, but also purposefully plays him up for ridicule and lack of depth next to the other villains)

These days, the Scarecrow is a tedious pip-squeak. His schemes lack verve, his cruelties stir little in the way of frissons. Haunted by cliché to an even greater extent than the other rogues, he’s often brought low with a single sock to the jaw delivered by Batman, or by finding himself on the receiving end of his own fear-inducing concoctions. He often acts as a pawn in the hands of bigger, badder third parties. He’s ostensibly a stand-in for the figure of the reductive, smug and hypocritical psychologist, nicely bundled up for the audience to humiliate in effigy - TheMindlessOnes's rogue review for Scarecrow

In "Nothing to Fear" it is explained that Jonathan Crane has always had this "thing" for scaring people. (Just as Snidely Whiplash had his "thing" for tying women to railroad tracks, I suppose.) But this is a wan kind of motive. One senses sadly that the real motive for the Scarecrow's behavior lies in the writer's need for someone to do something reprehensible. At the root of the matter may be a difficulty in sorting out the Scarecrow's ends from his means, with a consequent confusion between the goals the Scarecrow intends to reach and the tactics he employs in reaching them.

As a psychologist specializing in phobic disorders, Crane knows how to induce fear and trembling in his victims. But this tells us nothing about what the Scarecrow wants to accomplish. And without a sense or statement of what those goals are, the writer will be tempted to substitute means for end and make the Scarecrow's goal simply the scaring of people. Usually his actions are woefully underexplained - Dreams in Darkness' review by Toonzone

You might think that I'd be advocating for the Scarecrow, then, to disregard a need for a motivation and become as unknowable and horrific as possible, to recapture the awe I felt at his Batman Live self, but no, not at all. For one, I don't think the best version of anything is necessarily the one that made the most impact on me as a kid. Two, there have been some attempts over the years to remove Scarecrow from the toxin or seriously amp him up as a threat, and frankly, most of those have only made the character dramatically worse and more boring (I don't remember the name, but there was a Batman story a while ago where he goes on a big scary killing spree with no toxin just to prove he can and it was fucking terrible). Three, and the big one here, is that this pretty much forces you to get rid of Dr. Jonathan Crane, and I think that does a disservice to the character's potential. I think that's giving up on trying to make him work as a character and I don't think you have to do that.

My preferred characterization for Crane is one that emphasizes his nature as a scholar turned supervillain. The cold and misanthropic and neurotic nerd professor who spent most of his salary on books and took to terrorizing the city as a costumed criminal in part because he wanted money to buy more books. Who takes off the costume mid-crime spree to school his henchmen on specifics of brain chemistry, who gets revenge on those that wrong his students or even employs them as henchmen, still the same guy who thinks there's nothing wrong with firing a loaded gun in a packed classroom as a demonstration. Far less interested in human connections than he is in human reactions, things that can surprise him or that he can catalogue or research or write about. Someone who's not a sadist for sadism's sake, but who doesn't really see you as a person so much as he sees a test subject. I like Crane as a snarky humorous heel who thinks of himself as amoral and mature while doing horribly immoral and childish things, the Herbert West or Rusty Venture of Batman villains (James Urbaniak is definitely the voice I'd pick for him).

My preferred kind of motivation for him is something along the lines of how he's portrayed in most of Kings of Fear, where he puts Batman through the wringer in part as an attempt to get to him and cure him once and for all, or issues #4-5 of The Batman Adventures where he induces city-wide illiteracy in part as a protest against the city's failing education. In Gothtopia he makes all of Gotham hallucinate their perfect ideal lives, eliminating the crime rate but causing the suicide rate to spike up in return, and yes it does turn out to be the set-up for a really generic "fear gas everyone with blimps and make everyone twice as scared" pay off when his involvement is revealed, but I always thought Scarecrow being able and willing to do that, to create these huge and even benevolent-seeming social experiments, as an idea with legs. Fear State was frustratingly halfway there, with the initial set-up of Scarecrow pursuing a theory for fear-based social upheaval, but on top of not being very good, it also wound up that he was just doing the same old thing again and had Batman call him out as someone who just wanted to gas the city and make everyone scared again and never changes and does anything different, which seemed like Tynion defeating his own purpose of trying to make a defining Scarecrow story and address his lack of one, completely failing to address the why the character has that kind of problem and upending itself for meta commentary before doing anything interesting.

Even Kings of Fear, easily the best Scarecrow story of the past decades if not outright ever, kinda ends in a bit of a cop-out where The Scarecrow has to be wrong ("Even when he's telling the truth, he's lying, and even when he's right, he's wrong", Gordon tells Batman to reassure him, to nullify the past 5 issues criticizing and tearing into Batman from every angle imaginable), and he has to be a sadist who just wanted to fuck with Batman and uncover his worst fears because it's what he does. Why does Scarecrow want to unravel people and wrench their worst fears into the surface? Because he's a sadist who gets off on it? I guess that's the canon answer most of the time, but it's such a boring, weak one. Because he wants revenge on the world / bullies? Still weak, done better by other villains even. Because of an unspeakably traumatic childhood that taught him the world was ruled by fear and therefore driving him to become it's master? Okay, but it still doesn't actually answer what he wants to get out of doing what he does.

We know that Jonathan Crane was a fragile youth routinely terrorized and abused by others and plainly traumatized by his experiences. We know that he is learned and brilliant and given to introspection and fantasy.

From this base it is not hard to imagine Crane turning into a man fiercely devoted to solitude and study and capable of a murderous rage when his privacy is violated. It is possible, in other words, to imagine him as a reactive force, in the mold of Freeze, systematically terrorizing and destroying anyone who crosses him but rarely wanting to start trouble himself.

Or we can imagine him as a mercenary, a specialist hired by others for nefarious purposes, but who is not himself strongly motivated by particular rages or desires.

But if the Scarecrow is going to remain a sadist and a sadist only—if he is going to be moved only by the psychotic desire to harm others—we ought to be made to feel the seductive power that sadism has over its practitioners; we should be made to feel and appreciate the hot and sour joy that comes from the purposeful humiliation of another - Dreams in Darkness review by Toonzone

It's kind of a frustrating pattern in a lot of his stories where he gives a reason for doing something, and it turns out to be a cover for yet another sadistic fear gas attack, but his cover reason was a more interesting motivation for him than what he actually was going for. A villain who mainly just gets a kick out of hurting people and concocts bullshit excuses and reasons to justify said hurting? The Joker does that already, but the Joker always clearly states what he wants and has all those ways to make cruelty for cruelty's sake entertaining. If that's all The Scarecrow is also, no wonder he's going to be so incredibly lacking most of the time (nevermind the fact that he's never going to be the guy most infamous for gassing Gotham City).

Yes, he may be sadistic and cruel, he may enjoy what he does too much, and maybe there really isn't any kind of realistic explanation as to why a man would dress up as a scarecrow to commit terrorism and spray innocent people with chemicals to make them terrified, but refer to the guy he's fighting. "Realistic" is the wrong term. The issue here is less "why" the Scarecrow does what he does, and more what is he hoping to get out of it. Granted, this is less of a concern if you're playing The Scarecrow as a figure of horror, someone who's not even really human underneath that outfit. But I think that locks away much of his versatility. The Scarecrow needs Jonathan Crane, and I think there's good stuff to like about that awful man.

I like Jonathan Crane the sardonic pragmatic scientist who still embraces his hopelessly ridiculous life, a guy who's not nearly as above it all as he'd like to be and has wants and needs moreso than he really likes to admit. I like him as a book lover, as a fan of horror, I like him as the kind of guy who'd send fan mail to Elvira and break out of Arkham just to catch a Halloween parade and guest star in a Scooby-Doo movie for a change. I like him as someone who'd have a decent working relationship with the other rogues and pal with the Legion of Doom and get into a physical spat with Riddler over a chess game. Someone who custom-makes his own outfits and equipment, who makes scythes out of animal bones to fight Batman with, who picked the scarecrow motif in part because it was a term of derision his colleagues used on him.

Who pours himself over his research as he records his theories in a tape recorder, the kind of guy who grouses at having to clean another cell because he's getting annoyed at his test subjects killing themselves, seriously guys the cleaning supplies for this batch were as fresh as they could be, and the iguana amygdalas I used should be stopping your neocortexes from overreacting this strongly. Subject #3 over there got over his fear of centipedes yesterday and he hasn't screamed all morning, I'm gonna need the rest of you to stop being such babies, okay?

It must be terribly liberating for Crane, to transcend mere ugliness and become inhuman. Of all the rogues, he’s easily the one who takes Batman’s “I need a disguise; I shall become a beast of the night” schtick and runs with it the farthest - TheMindlessOnes's rogue review for Scarecrow

And that's for Jonathan Crane, man of science. The Scarecrow, however, is not science, he is unreason incarnate, and to me what most makes The Scarecrow work as a Batman villain has nothing to do with "they both use fear as a weapon", I always thought that was a bit shallow of an angle to pursue (most, if not all, the villains rely on fear, it comes with the whole "crime" thing). The two have a stronger connection via the costume, the theatricality, the becoming a creature of the night angle. None of the other major Batman villains are going into their costumes the way The Scarecrow is. They have their personas and varying degrees of division between them and their "real selves", but few of them are wearing outright identity-separating Halloween Monster Costumes with separate names and personalities they can dip in and out of at their convenience.

And I'm gonna interrupt myself to answer your second question. I couldn't pick just one design, so counting the Batman Live one above, I picked 10. These are not in order and they're not necessarily how I'd design him, I'd say my actual favorite Scarecrow designs are fan-made, but if I was going to pick out of "official" material these are the ones I'd go for. It's time for:

(Left-to-right: George Pratt's Scarecrow pin-up, Phil Jimenez's Scarecrow design, Ed Natividad's concept art for Suicide Squad)

(Left-to-right: His TNBA design by Bruce Timm as drawn by Luciano Vecchio, Alex Ross's design for Justice, and Tim Sale's Scarecrow)

(Left-to-right: Kelley Jones' design for Kings of Fear, Jeremy Raapack's design for Legends of the Dark Knight #25, Scarecrow's design in Happy Halloween, Scooby-Doo!)

*cough*, anyway: Most of the other rogues with their signature suits or masks or body distortions don't tend to have closets full of different variant Batsuits and scarecrow costumes to choose and devote to their cause and ideal, that they sit at night tailoring on how to make scarier or more loaded with weapons, that they might even have conversations with, things that sit in their closets waiting because both of these brilliant men, men who have (or at least had) different civilian lives, men who could stop doing this at any time, who both decided that becoming a Halloween monster prowling the streets to inflict terror is a necessary, even productive use of their time.

And I think that's the key word I want to end here, productive. I think The Scarecrow needs to be more productive. Because even if he's not aware of it, he is achieving progress via his research, and there is one way he's proved his ideas: Batman walks out of every fight they have stronger. Every encounter they have is a test that Batman resists and walks out of more able to cope with his own traumas, or at least, better able to resist them being weaponized against him. I always wanted to explore the idea that Crane is genuinely convinced he's doing people a favor or at least achieving something via all these horrible Scarecrow campaigns, and one thing he has achieved is that Batman is never not prepared for chemical attacks or assaults on his mind, Batman resists ungodly trials of willpower and determination and courage, in part because he has to deal with the Scarecrow pumping terror juice in his brain semi-regularly.

The fact that Crane loses and gets beaten up and has to retry schemes again and again and kill people and join the costume parade just to lure Batman is fairly inconsequential to him, so long as it gets results. He's not interested in dissecting Batman's brain or being more like Batman, that's Hugo Strange's thing. Hugo Strange needs Batman to be fearless, allmighty and perfect, where as Jonathan Crane wants nothing more than to unearth and study the fears and kinks in the armor, the dead last thing he wants is a perfect man. Hugo Strange wants to crawl naked into the mask of the great and terrible fascist and never come out, where as The Scarecrow wants to crack open all the masks in the world and feast luridly on whatever seeps out.

Batman isn't just the ultimate trial against his fear-ruled worldview (or even affirmation), and he isn't just a breakthrough waiting to happen: he might be his greatest success as of yet. A case study on the success of exposure therapy, proof of potential medicinal applications for his formula, the greatest guinea pig of all time because he won't die no matter what you pump into him, you name it. So what if all those other people couldn't stomach the procedure, so what if those precious innocents are too weak and stupid and useless to not get in the way of research, it's clearly worked wonders for those who could take it.

And if the future belongs to men like Batman, if all of these superheroes and supervillains are the way things are going to be like forever, if the future is Bat-shaped and as vast and uncertain and horrible as the forces shaping it, the future needs to be prepared. The future needs to grapple with it's past and face it's greatest horrors and become stronger for it. There is no such thing as overcoming fear, there is only living with it, embracing it, bowing to the primordial instinct that knows the answer before you do. Mankind grew and developed it's intelligence and tools out of fear, fear of the bigger predators out there, fear of the other cavemen, fear of starvation and death and everything they couldn't understand and master until they learned to fear it. What better knowledge to pass along than fear? And who is better qualified to teach about fear?

Maybe Crane isn't just another monster with a grudge, maybe he isn't another costumed revenge killer, maybe he isn't just a power-tripping sadist bully out to torment others because he can, and maybe he isn't a hopeless traumatized madman who destroyed his professional and personal life in a monstrous quest to satisfy an obsession ruling his soul.

Maybe he is a sane response to an insane situation. Ever heard that one before?

[pixelnrd]

With Hugo's help and encouragement, Mac started trying to search for the next clue to their family history. They laid out all of their work so far and pinpointed where to focus next - Daisy Schiller. Who was Daisy, and where had she come from?

Try as they may, their searches for a Daisy by the name of Schiller and Weston still didn't produce any results. Until Hugo had a brainwave - to search more broadly for the name Schiller.

Mac was starting to lose hope, until Hugo's searching finally unearthed something - their first lead.

'It says here, that there was a bloke by the name of Schiller part of some gang in Windenburg back in the 1920s... the Gillespie Gang, there's all this history of them, apparently they were some notorious criminals,' they explained. Mac perked up.

'There's no photographs though,' said Hugo, disheatened.

'Let's go to Windenburg, then!' exclaimed Mac. 'This is all we have to go on, perhaps there's more to it there? Some niche local history, some kind of walking tour of local history. We've got to try.'

And so the pair travelled to Windenburg. Upon arrival, they entered the beautiful old Windenburg library and went straight for the section on local history. Perusing the books on the shelves, they found a local history of crime that contained a golden nugget - a histoy of the Gillespie Gang.

Flicking through the pages, Mac couldn't belive their eyes when they found a very old photograph depicting a group of young men. The photo was black and white and faded, but Mac stared at their young faces and the captions beneath nothing their names: Thomas Harrington, Jacob Schiller.

It still wasn't much to go on. They had a surname connection, but everything was still purely speculative.

'Do you think Jacob Schiller was the husband of Daisy?' they asked Hugo, as they left the library.

'I mean, it's plausible isn't it?' said Hugo. 'They were alive in the same time, living in the same region.'

They had begun to walk through the old historical slums of Windenburg - shabby brick houses, long condemned and abandoned, some restored, many preserved for historical purposes. Mac looked around and thought about what it must have been like for Daisy - to be a mob wife, living in these sad old buildings. They felt sad for her - she was a mother, she had three children. She clearly didn't live her life out here. What was her story? Would they ever know?

[sequinsmile-x]

Instincts - The Fourth Time

Five times Emily doesn't yell at her mother-in-law, and one time she does.

Part 4/6

-x-

Hi friends <3

I am so pleased you guys are enjoying this fic so far, it means the world to me!!

Just one more to go after this until Emily finally, and quite rightly, loses her shit...

As always, please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: Full list of tags can be found on the Master List

Words: 2.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The fourth time, the only reason Emily doesn’t yell at Caroline is because she’s already gone by the time she finds out why she should yell at her.

Emily was tired in a way she had never been before, exhaustion running as deep as the happiness she felt all the time these days. Every time she looked at her son's face, whenever she ran her fingers over his dimpled cheeks or the slope of his nose, she fell more in love with him - something she always thought wasn’t possible. 

Hugo was three weeks old and the centre of his family’s world. Jack was enamoured with his little brother and loved to help out where he could, content to sit on the couch in between Emily and Aaron as they sat whilst the baby was napping and just stare at Hugo, forever pointing out all the facial expressions and noises he made. He told everyone who would listen about his little brother and had already asked Emily, more than once, if he could take him to school for show and tell. 

For the first two weeks, it had just been the four of them. She’d loved every second, enjoyed every moment of the sanctuary they’d created, and part of her hadn’t wanted it to come to an end. Her resistance to letting other people in, to letting her mother and the team meet Hugo, disappeared the moment she saw the way they loved her son. 

She sat on the couch with her arm around Jack’s shoulders as Hugo was passed from person to person, but not before Aaron made them all sanitise their hands, and she’d marvelled at how many people her boys had in their lives. How much love they were surrounded by, and it made every difficult thing she’d ever been through worth it to make it to that moment. Especially when Hugo spit up on Derek the moment he held him. 

The only person who hadn’t met him yet was Caroline. 

She hadn’t agreed with Emily’s desire to not have anyone meet Hugo until a couple of weeks after he was born. She’d wanted to be there to meet him in the hospital, and it was only because of Aaron’s patience and firmness with his mother that it hadn’t ended up happening. Emily knew her mother-in-law still hadn’t respected her wishes. Hugo was born 3 weeks early, and Caroline hadn’t had to move her flights to come and meet him.

Every time they saw her, Emily’s promise to her husband to not get involved with his mother’s antics was getting harder to keep. She understood the complexities of it all, she could write a book on it herself about her relationship with Elizabeth, but her patience was wearing thin. She could deal with it if it was just her that her actions were aimed at, but she saw how Caroline’s behaviour impacted Aaron too, and she hated how sometimes he’d just deflate in front of her. How he’d appear smaller than he actually was, a reflection of the boy he never got to be shining in his eyes as his mother made him feel small. 

Emily smiles at Hugo as he tightens his grip on her finger from where he’s nestled against her thighs. Jack and Aaron had gone to pick up Caroline from the airport, so Emily was taking advantage of her precious alone time with her youngest. As soon as he’d woken up from his nap she’d brought him downstairs to feed him, and now she was sitting against the arm of the couch, her feet firmly planned on the cushions with Hugo laying on her upright thighs, his tiny feet kicking against her stomach and his hands wrapped around her fingers. 

“Are you excited to meet your Grandma sweet boy?” She asks, smiling when he grunts, “She’s…kind of mean sometimes” she whispers, blowing out a breath, “In an entirely different way to your other Grandma…but don’t worry I don’t think she’ll be mean to you.”

Strangely, her relationship with her mother had improved because of Caroline. They finally found a subject they agreed on, and for the first time in Emily’s life, she knew if her mother-in-law was in a room as well as Elizabeth, that her mother would be on her side no matter what. 

She sighs as she hears the car pull up onto the driveway and she lifts Hugo and holds his against her chest, stamping a kiss against his forehead as she stands up, “Here we go, baby.” 

Caroline is on her the moment she steps through the door, not even saying hello before she scoops Hugo into her arms, “Oh look at him,” she says, “He’s so big already.” 

“He’s smaller than Jack was at this age,” Aaron says, wrapping his arm around Emily’s waist, his hand a comforting warmth on her hip as she has her eyes fixed on their son in his mother’s arms, “He’s actually just got back up to his birth weight.” 

“He’s really good at eating now,” Jack pipes up from Caroline’s side, standing on his tiptoes to look at Hugo’s face, “Well, drinking because all he has is milk.” 

“Jack is very interested in how nursing works, huh buddy?” Aaron says, ruffling his hair, smiling when Jack settles against Emily’s side. 

“Emily’s body makes milk for him - isn’t that cool?” 

Caroline stiffens, her discomfort with her young grandson knowing about breastfeeding obvious as she tears her gaze away from Hugo, and she clears her throat, “It’s very cool,” she says, her facial expression saying otherwise, and then she looks at Emily, “You can always give him formula too if your supply isn’t enough.” 

“My supply is fine,” she says, stepping forward to take Hugo from her arms, knowing if she had her son against her chest she’d stop herself from saying something she’d later regret to Caroline. Her patience with the woman was already fraying earlier than it usually would, her nerves already threadbare due to a lack of sleep and postpartum hormones that made everything feel a little closer, “The doctor said it’s normal for babies to lose a little weight at first.” 

“It’s completely normal,” Aaron says, kissing the top of her head, squeezing her hip in reassurance, “Shall we all go sit down?” 

Emily nods and smiles tightly at him, and she’s grateful when Jack distracts Caroline and drags her into the living room, his hand in hers as he insists he wants to show her his new toys. It gives Emily a moment alone with her husband and she looks up at him, a slow breath puffing out her cheeks as she turns her head to kiss Hugo’s temple. 

“It’s going to be a long couple of days,” she grumbles, and he leans forward to kiss her, his hand on her lower back as she leans in against him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “And if she steps out of line,” he smiles when she raises an eyebrow at him, “Okay, when she steps out of line, I’ll say something to her.”

She hums and nods, “I think I’m just tired.” 

He kisses her again, “How about when Hugo goes down for a nap later you have a nap too?” 

“Are you sure you don't mind dealing with your mom alone?” 

He smiles and rests his forehead against hers, his hand now over hers on Hugo’s back, “I’ve been doing it my whole life, I’ll be okay for an hour or so whilst you get some rest.” 

___

When she wakes up, she doesn’t even remember falling asleep. 

She groans as she sits up and she rubs her eyes, wondering how it was possible to feel even less well rested than she had when she’d come upstairs to nap. Her eyes go wide when she looks at the clock on the nightstand and realises she’s been asleep for four hours.  She sees that the bassinet is empty and she knows she’d somehow slept through Hugo waking up and Aaron coming up to get him. The idea of it makes her smile, her husband determined enough that she got her rest that he’d snuck into the room and taken their baby downstairs before he could wake her up. She blows out a breath as she prepares herself for an evening with her mother-in-law and heads downstairs to see her boys, wondering how it was possible to miss Hugo when all she’d done was sleep. 

She’s surprised when she gets downstairs and the house is quiet. She finds Aaron, Jack and Hugo in the living room, the baby fast asleep on his father’s chest and the little boy sat in the middle of the room watching the TV, content for the sound to be as low as possible whilst his brother slept. 

“Hey,” she says as she walks into the room, not bothering to hide a yawn. She smiles when Aaron turns to look at her but it fades at the look on his face, the tightness to the smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hey,” he replies, “How did you sleep?” 

“I could do with another four days sleep,” she smiles as she sits next to him, “But I definitely needed the nap, so thanks for being on Hugo duty.” 

He smiles for real this time, fondness pressed into his dimples as he tilts his head at her, “He’s my son too, Em. You don’t have to thank me for looking after him.” 

She hums and then looks around, “Where’s your mom? I didn’t see her in the spare room when I walked past.” 

His shoulders stiffen, a tightness to them only the worst of the criminals they dealt with, and his mother, could bring out in him. “Jack, buddy,” he says, looking over at their eldest, “How about you go and feed Sergio for me?” 

Jack’s eyes light up and he jumps up to his feet, “All by myself?” 

“Yes, but remember-”

“No matter how much he meows he can only have one packet,” Jack says, already heading down the hallway, calling out the cat's name as he walks to the kitchen. 

Aaron sighs as he turns to look at his wife once the little boy is gone, and she feels a ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, “Before I say anything,” he says, passing over Hugo so she can hold him, smiling despite whatever he was going to say at the sight of the baby in her arms, “I want you to know I told her she was entirely out of line.”

She licks her lower lip, her hold on Hugo tightening ever so slightly, “What…what happened?” 

“I was prepping some of the food for dinner and she was holding Hugo, and…I came in here to check on her and found her feeding him,” he says, swallowing thickly before the next part, “And she was feeding him formula.” 

She stares at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open as she chokes on a disbelieving laugh, “She did what?” 

A month ago she wouldn’t have understood the tears that immediately press at the back of her eyes and then slip past her lashes, but it feels like nothing short of a betrayal of her trust. She’d worked hard to be able to nurse Hugo, something that had led to tears from both of them on more than one occasion, but she’d done it and he’d never had formula. 

“She claimed that the thought she was helping-” he says, his own anger clear as she laughs humourlessly and shakes her head, cutting him off before he can say anything else. 

“We don’t even have formula here,” she says, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“She brought it with her,” he explains and she closes her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks and landing on Hugo’s romper, “She said it was the best way to ‘bond with the baby.’” 

“She is fucking unbelievable,” Emily seethes, “This is such a violation of my trust. How am I supposed to feel comfortable leaving my kids with her-”

“Em,” he says, shifting closer so his hand is on her knee, “I said all of that to her and more and I told her to leave. She’s gone to her friend's house.” 

She presses her lips together to try and stop them from shaking, “Thank you, for doing that,” she laughs and it’s wet, catching in her chest on the emotions still rolling through it, “Not all men would understand why it’s such a big deal.” 

“Hey,” he says, cupping her cheek and encouraging her to look at him, “I get it. And I have your back, no matter what okay? Once it’s been a few days and we’ve thought about it all we can figure out what to do next.” 

She nods, swallowing thickly before she turns to press a kiss to his palm, “Aaron, I know I promised you I’d never say anything to her, but if this kind of thing continues, if she pulls shit like this with the kids again, I don’t think I’d be able to, or want to, stop myself.”

They fall into silence for a few seconds until he nods, dissipating any concern she had that he’d argue with her over this as he once again proves he’s the best man she’d ever met. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, wiping tears from her cheeks, “And if she ever does anything like this again, or anything to do with the kids, you absolutely can yell at her.” 

She chuckles, “Even if I’m holding the baby?” 

“Even then,” he nods and he closes the remaining gap between them, his arm around her shoulders as he kisses her temple, “I’ll just take the baby from you and let you say what you want to say.” 

She smiles up at him and stamps a kiss on his chin, “I love you. So much.” 

“Even though my mom is…” he trails off, shaking his head and clenching his jaw as he thinks about it all again, another example of how Caroline thought she knew best no matter what, “Well. My mom.” 

“Yes,” she says, not even having to think about it, “Especially because of that I’d say.”

He furrows his brow, “Really?” 

She hums and looks down at Hugo, smiling at the little boy in her arms, untouched by anything other than love and happiness, and then she looks up at her husband, “It’s just more proof of how hard you fought to be the kind, amazing, man I married.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes shining as he looks down at her, “I love you, Em.” 

She smiles, but she’s cut off by Jack yelling from the kitchen, “Dad…Sergio got into the pantry and he won’t get out.” 

Aaron groans and kisses Emily’s forehead, “I’ll go stop your cat from eating all the snacks.” 

She rolls her eyes at him as he stands up, calling after him as he walks away, “He’s our cat.”