#more thoughts coming on les mis soon

[mabeuf5]

spent london pride the only correct way: had a panic attack on john keats’ bedroom floor then saw les mis

[dannyricsmirrorball]

tying the knot • cl16 part 3 ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚ pairing || charles leclerc x gasly!reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ genre || social media au

ੈ✩‧₊˚ summary || baby fever is a disease and it’s contagious!

alt. y/n is pierre’s younger sister. there’s no way she’s dating his best friend aka her childhood friend… right?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ warning || google translate 😬 again lol

ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n || so initially thought this would be the last one but alas it is not… so one or two more party’s left! also charles on POLEEEEE LFG

NOT PROOF READ YET!

part 1 part 2

liked by francisca.cgomes, luisinhaoliveira99, and 276,646 others

yourusername honeymooninggg

francisca.cgomes missing u babyyyy

⤷ yourusername i miss uuuuu kika bby 💕

username8 y/n and her mystery husband are sooo cute

username91 god i have seen what u have done for others

landonorris y/n jpg coming????

⤷ yourusername u wishhhh

arthur_leclerc have fun love birds 🐦🕊️😘😅

carla.brocker so stunning y/n/n 🤍

charles_leclerc safety hazard in the first pic mon beux

username16 charles and y/n honeymooning b4 the break is over, they’re so cute ���

⤷ username55 y/n charles shippers still exist?

lilymhe COME BACK NOW

⤷ yourusername soon!

⤷ alex_albon really. how soon is soon?🙄

⤷ yourusername blah blah haterrrrrr

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe, and 126,727 others

yourusername past couple months

username91 oh to be y/n gasly 🫠

⤷ username18 not gasly anymore!

⤷ username91 omg that’s right but we don’t know what her husbands last name is!!!

⤷ username52 maybe she didn’t change it? or got it hyphenated?

⤷ username16 y/n leclerc. sounds pretty good to me.

username9 always a ferrari gal ❤️

francisca.cgomes hotttt

isahernaez linda 😍

username9 even tho i’d love to know who he is, i still love the cute pics y/n posts of her and her husband

⤷ username82 they’re kinda like instead of private but not secret, they’re secret but not private LOL

username63 they’ve sucked her into there padel mania oh no

liked by carlossainz55, georgerussell63, and 186,870 others

yourusername cute stuff

tagged carla.brocker, charlotte2304, lilymhe, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes

username16 the charles shirt 😭

username73 more charles x y/n content. we are winningggg.

username72 ahhh i love all her friendships especially w alex and lily

maxverstappen1 nice shirt 👍

username23 love that y/n is always some how w alex and lily

⤷ alex_albon she doesn’t leave us alone

⤷ yourusername you love meeee

charlotte2304 mi manchi, bella ragazza

⤷ yourusername i miss uuuu

alex_albon ur welcome for the shirt y/n/n ✌️

⤷ charles_leclerc 🤨

⤷ alex_albon it wasn’t all me!!!

⤷ charles_leclerc don’t worry alex, ik lily was the mastermind 😒

⤷ lilymhe what’s it to u???! it’s funnyyyy

charles_leclerc never letting u take the wheel again

⤷ yourusername boooo whatevaaaa

liked by joris__trouche, yourusername, and 11,829 others

mlnmarta un début octobre sur la côte d'azur ur

translation: an early october on the french riviera

tagged riccardobenetta, charles_leclerc

yourusername mon coeur explose 🥹❤️‍🔥

yourusername baby c 😭

yourusername je vous aims tellement ❤️❤️

⤷ mlnmarta nous aussi ❤️

username16 y/n freaking out is so realllll

joris__trouche boubouuuu 🥹

charlottesiine bébé chiara 😍💕

username11 omfg charles w a baby. i’m on the floor.

charles_leclerc 🤍

liked by luisinhaoliveira99, alex_albon, and 192,082 others

yourusername ma petite fille 🩷

tagged yourfriend1

username17 y/n w kids 🥰

yourfriend1 give her back!

⤷ yourusername never!

francisca.cgomes so cuteeee 💘

landonorris don’t drop her 😳

⤷ yourusername how could u even suggest it?!

leclerc_pascale tu es le prochain 😉🥰

⤷ yourusername maman! 😅

⤷ lorenzotl 😂

⤷ arthur_leclerc better get to work 😉🤣

liked by lilymhe, yourfriend1, and 175,982 others

yourusername auntie duties 💐

tagged yourfriend1, yourfriend2

username27 she’s so pretty

username74 baby fever arising

yourfriend2 u can take them for longer!

⤷ yourusername i just abt might take them forever 🥹🥹

⤷ yourfriend2 oh that’s not-

francisca.cgomes perfeita 😍

yourfriend1 coolest aunt out!

landonorris they trust u w their kids?!?

⤷ yourusername ur parents trust me w u?

⤷ alex_albon owned.

liked by mlnmarta, yourusername, and 887,838 others

charles_leclerc pourquoi tous nos amis ont des bébés?

translation: why do all our friends have babies?

tagged mlnmarta, riccardoberetta, yourfriend1, yourusername

username18 lmfao y/n and charles rlly are just surrounded by a bunch of babies and toddlers

username15 i’m actually dead at the amount of charles and y/n x babies content we’ve been getting

username54 charles acting like we don’t know he has the biggest baby fever ever… i mean look at talk the reels he likes

⤷ username7 same as y/n like that baby fever has KICKED IN

riccardoberetta ❤️

yourusername 🥹

username82 does no one else find all these baby posts from y/n and charles a bit… suspicious

⤷ username72 no? u guys need to get over this agenda, like they’re just childhood friends

pierregasly surprised u know how to hold one mate

⤷ charles_leclerc cant say the same for u

landonorris y/n looks like she’s going to eat the poor thing

⤷ charles_leclerc i think she wanted to 😅

⤷ yourusername U DIDNT SEE HIS LITTLE CHEEKS 🥹

mlnmarta 😍

liked by friend1, luisinhaoliveira99, and 198,827 others

yourusername j'en veux un

translation: i want one

tagged yourfriend2, mlnmarta

yourfriend2 😳 ummmm please return my baby b4 u say these things…

⤷ yourfriend1 don’t trust her.

⤷ yourusername whatever do u mean… ☺️☺️

username9 ik we were all joking abt y/n having baby fever but i fr think she does

username88 girly just got married and she already wants a baby LMFAO

⤷ username72 i mean i would to if charles leclerc was my husband

⤷ username2 average delulu charles y/n stan

username82 that pic of charles and baby c moved and changed y/n and that is so relatable of her

⤷ username26 literally SAME

landonorris have u seen ur laundry room?

⤷ yourusername shut up. you’re literally a child.

pierregasly oh? 😀

lilymhe MILF MILF MILF MILF MILF

⤷ yourusername LET’S BE MILFS TOGETHER

⤷ lilymhe OMFG YES

⤷ alex_albon oh! 😃🤨

username18 don’t mind her. she’s going through a phase 😬

danielricciardo i knew there was a reason u begged to come back to the farm w me! u wanted to steal my nephews and nieces 🫨

⤷ yourusername they’re just so cutieful 🥹🥹

username17 wild y/n on the loose! hide ur kids!!!

joris__trouche u guys are too much 🤣🤣

⤷ username91 what does he mean ‘you guys’… when i tell u everything is piling onto my charles y/n agenda 😗

mlnmarta si mignon, baby c tu manques 🌸🌸

⤷ yourusername I MISS HER 🥹😘❤️

liked by lorenzotl, charles_leclerc, and 19,092 others

charlotte2304 what a weekend 🏎️❤️

tagged carla.brocker, francisca.cgomes

carla.brocker 🩷🩷

username17 where’s y/n lol

francisca.cgomes 💕

lorenzotl ma belle

username72 leclerc wagsss so pretty

username01 where’s y/n?!

username18 y/n has NEVER missed monza. where is she?!

username89 leclerc wags w/o y/n 🥺

liked by pierregasly, alpinef1team, and 198,038 others

francisca.cgomes 🇮🇹

username9 the prettiest gal in the paddock

username14 her fits 😍😍

username16 miss y/n and kika in the paddock together

⤷ username81 please it’s one race 🙄

pierregasly 🤍

charlotte2304 😍

carla.brocker 💘

username17 i needddd her dress

luisinhaoliveira99 so pretty 💘🌸

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, and 109,882 others

lilymhe p7 for my mansssss 🍝

tagged alex_albon

username23 his good luck charm!!!

username41 she looks so bored w/o y/n

username18 lily where’s y/n?!!!

⤷ username16 fr where is she?! she never misses monza!

alex_albon 🐐🐐

williamsracing monza minister of defenseeeee 📣📣

2 years later // 2025

liked by lilymhe, isahernaez, and 239,092 others

francisca.cgomes famfun&friends

username53 sweetest couple

username18 missing y/n and kika hoursss

username21 it’s been two years. where is y/n hiding!!!

username14 every time kika or pierre or lily or like anyone posts i cross my fingers that y/n is in a pic and i’m always disappointed

pierregasly ma belle 😘

lando.jpg pic creds??

⤷ francisca.cgomes desculpe lan

⤷ username17 if u had told me 2-3 years ago that lando and kika were mates i would’ve been shocked

⤷ username4 it’s all thanks to y/n… she brought together all those random pairings bc they were all friends w her… and now she’s no where to be found 🫠

charles_leclerc stop taking my man 🤬

⤷ francisca.cgomes then give me back my girl!!!

⤷ username16 GIRL?!? 😳

⤷ username68 charles has a gf?!

⤷ username45 OMFG

⤷ username63 it’s y/n guys… like trust meeeee

⤷ username78 pack it up granny

⤷ charles_leclerc no girlfriend

⤷ username16 OH?! officially confused.

liked by alex_albon, carmenmmundt, and 109,838 others

lilymhe recent 🌃

tagged francisca.cgomes, alex_albon, carmenmmundt, heidiberger_, charles_leclerc

username1 i’m actually so emo bc where tf is y/n

username82 lily hanging out w charles has rlly reminded me how much i miss y/n. like what happened? where did she go!!

username17 all the best wagssss

alex_albon ✌️

heidiberger_ ilyyyyy

⤷ lilymhe mwahhhh

username76 all of them hanging out without y/n feels sooo wrong

⤷ username73 it’s been TWO years bro like get over it

⤷ username14 how do u know that she’s not there? they might just not post photos of her bc she wants privacy lol

⤷ username54 WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING!! like everyone has been throwing a hissy for the past two years abt y/n and where she is but like are we forgetting that kika is her sister-in-law and pierre is her literal brother also she grew up w the leclercs and lily has been her best friend for like over five years - i guarantee she just doesn’t have a presence on social media but is surely still in their lives

charles_leclerc traitor! i look like an idiot

⤷ lilymhe well i mean…

⤷ charles_leclerc wounded

francisca.cgomes miss u ml x

carmenmmundt 🤍

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, and 8,092,260 others

charles_leclerc no words. ❤️

tagged f1, scuderiaferrari

username18 “for the first time ever, charles leclerc is champion of the world!” was music to my earssss

username61 LFGGGGGG

username92 ⭐️boyyyyy

username16 il predestinato fulfils the prophecy

scuderiaferrari il formidable, il predestinato ❤️❤️

carlossainz55 deserved hermano. felicidades!

pierregasly félicitations mon frère 🫶

lorenzotl waouh charles ❤️🤍

landonorris congrats mate 😘

francisca.cgomes congratulations charles!!! 🫶💘

joris__trouche bravo mon beaux 😉😘

yourusername jamais été aussi fier de réaliser vos rêves! champion du monde ❤️ toujours à vos côtés 🤍

translation: never been prouder, fulfilling your dreams! champion of the world. forever by your side

⤷ charles_leclerc pour toujours

username71 UMMMM Y/N???!!

username8 after years of radio silence the first sign of y/n is her congratulating charles on his wdc 😭😭 they are soulmates, u cna not make this shit up

alex_albon 🔝 job charlie

lilymhe 👏👏

arthur_leclerc bon travail frère ❤️🤍

leclerc_pascale mon bébé 🥰

georgerussell63 let’s gooo 👍👏

lewishamilton 💜

username16 the way y/n’s comment is the only one charles replied too 👀

taglist: @chalecbooks @lxclerc @1655clean @dl-yum @honey6578 @lillianacristina @xcinnamongirl @glitterf1 @christianpulisic10

[madhatterbri]

Bet | D.P.

Summary: A She’s All That AU where Damian accepts a bet that he can make fem!reader, who is a jobber or someone stuck at catering into a women’s champion. Thanx :)

Author's Note: Starting the story off with her already a champion. Blame @theworldofotps for the ending.

More of my Damian Priest fics can be found here.

My masterlist can be found here.

Requested by Anon

Taglist: @theworldofotps @plentyoffandoms @brideofinfamy @mrsarcherofinfamy

Time froze the moment Samantha Irvin announced that Y/N was the new women's champion. She stared at the championship belt in amazement. Months ago, this was a distant dream. She couldn't believe her moment finally came. This moment was all thanks to Damian Priest.

Y/N rolled out of the ramp and towards Damian as he waited at the top. Tears streamed down her face as she high five a couple of fans while passing them. The archer of infamy had his arms wide open. In a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Congratulations, I'm so proud of you, mi amor," he muttered in her head. They separated from the hug. The unlikely duo stared back at the ring. Damian grabbed one of her hands and raised it up high.

They disappeared behind the curtain after allowing her to soak in the cheers for a little while longer. The talent in the back congratulated her. She even took a picture with one of her bosses, HHH, to celebrate the occasion. Nothing could ruin this night.

"I'm going to get a shower and change. See you soon," she promised and kissed her boyfriend. Y/N disappeared into the locker room and went to the showers. The cold water felt divine on her sore muscles. Her thoughts wandered on the path that led her here.

WWE hired her as a jobber to put talent over. At first, she was just excited to be getting air time on TV. If wrestling didn't work out, maybe she could have an acting career. Loss after loss, she ate happily until someone noticed her.

Damian informed her that he saw something in her. A spark or passion to want to succeed. Y/N blew him off at first, but he was persistent. After a few weeks, she agreed to let him train her.

Any free time she had was spent with him. They ran together and worked out on the machines. He even helped her with her mic skills. HHH started to give her more chances to show her new skills. She managed to impress him.

As time passed, their relationship started to move from friendly coworkers to something more. After work outs, they would sneak back to his room. At first, it was to soak each other in with the new light that they now saw each other in. Hours were spent staring at the hotel ceiling and just talking about their life and dreams. One night after RAW, they really pushed the boundaries of their relationship.

He kissed her outside his hotel door. That night, there was no talking until they fell asleep. The heat of the moment caught up to them. By the next morning, they were officially a couple. Now, with both of them as champions, they were a power couple. Nothing could ruin this moment for her.

Y/N stopped the water and dressed quickly. She went to the place she left Damian, but he was not around. The men's champion had a match coming up. She wanted to wish him luck before he fought his challenger.

As she walked past others in the back, those that hadn't congratulated her yet did so. She turned a corner and saw Damian talking to JD McDonagh. A normal occurrence given that they were in the same faction together. The words that they spoke felt like a punch to her stomach.

"I thought you were crazy to accept that bet. She was a mess, and now she is champion. It should have been a shoo-in for me to win that money," JD sighed. He started to hand him the money.

"Yeah, man, look, can we keep it under wraps? I don't want her to find out is all," Damian's deep voice caused tears to prick her eyes. She wiped them away quickly and sniffled.

Their eyes widened in shock the moment they saw her. Y/N could swear the color left Damian's face. Hot tears fell down her cheeks. Her heart felt like the organ literally ripped in her chest.

"You never believed in me at all?" She asked. The championship belt on her shoulder weighed heavily on her. All the times they spent together now tainted. "Was sleeping with me part of the bet too?"

"Let's just talk this out. This was before I got to know you. Y/N, you are so talented," Damian complimented to try and save face. She shook her head. The arena felt like it was crashing down on her. She had to leave now.

"Y/N, wait!" Damian called behind her. She scurried away from the heartache. Tears blurred her vision. She didn't notice who could see her until a hand grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Hey, I thought we would see Damian's match together," Rhea offered. It was a pretty common occurrence now. They had become friendly towards the other since Y/N spent more time with Damian. Rhea caught a glimpse of the other's face. "What's wrong?"

"Is this just a bet, too? Was I just some little bet to everyone on Judgment Day?" Y/N demanded.

Rhea shook her head. "A bet? What bet? Darling, what's going on?"

The sound of Damian shouting her name caused Y/N to look back at him. "Why don't you ask him? I'm out of here,"

The crying woman left a stunned Rhea Ripley. The archer of infamy moved to pass Rhea, but Mami stopped him. Her grip on his arm was stronger than a vice. She didn't look like she was in a playing mood.

"What did you do?" Rhea demanded from Damian. He gulped and came clean to her about everything.

[gunnerfc]

Center Stage - Aitana Bonmatí x Reader SMAU; Part 1.5

Aitana gets asked about going to your show in a pre-match conference and makes a small confession that has social media going crazy! A short bridge between parts 1 and 2!

AN: All translations come from google! 

Aitana had to resist the urge to roll her eyes when she was told she would join Jona for the pre-match conference before the team’s match against Atlético Madrid. If she was honest, most of her irritation came from not being able to meet you after attending your show.

While Aitana understood that you were very busy and couldn’t hang around long after getting off stage, she was a bit bummed she couldn’t give you the friendship bracelet she had made with her number on it. It was a bit foolish to think it would work, but Aitana’s crush never faltered at her failed chance of making a move.

Sitting beside Jona, hearing the same questions she’s heard numerous times before, Aitana’s irritation grows. The Catalan lets her head coach answer most of the questions, his answers are the same words he spoke to the team during the last training, though this time a bit more formal for the press. Aitana gave her input here and there when questions were directed towards her, but for the most part, she was silent. 

Aitana thought she would soon be free of reporters until after the game tomorrow, but when a reporter stated the last question would be for her, she knew she had thought wrong. 

“Aitana, ¿cómo estuvo el concierto al que asististe durante el parón de semana? (Aitana, how was the concert you attended during the week break?)”, the reporter asked, catching Aitana off guard. She didn’t expect to be asked about you or your show during this conference.

Aitana could feel her mood instantly shift at the thought of talking about you. Before she could consider her words, the midfielder responded with “¡Fue muy bueno! ¡Disfruté la mayor parte! (It was very good! I enjoyed most of it!)” 

She realized how her words sounded the moment they left her mouth but before she could explain further, a different reporter beat her to it. 

“¿La mayor parte? Parecía que disfrutaste todo el espectáculo por los videos que te tomaron los fans. (Most of it? It seemed like you enjoyed the whole show from the videos fans took of you.)” the reporter asked, clearly trying to get Aitana to say more. They were journalists for a reason.

Aitana could feel her cheeks flush at the thought of fans having videos of her looking like a love-sick puppy over someone who didn’t even know who she was. Aitana wasn’t the best liar so she knew the only way to clarify what she didn’t enjoy was to tell the truth.

“¡Disfruté el espectáculo! No disfruté no tener la oportunidad de conocer a Y/N después (I enjoyed the show! I didn't enjoy not having the chance to meet Y/N afterwards.).” Aitana started, and now she knew she had to keep going, even if it meant possibly embarrassing herself slightly.

“Los fans de Y/N son conocidos por sus pulseras de la amistad. Le hice uno, esperando poder dárselo después del espectáculo (Y/N’s fans are known for their friendship bracelets. I made her one, hoping I could give it to her after the show.).” Aitana finished, her cheeks still tinted red. 

Keira and Ona were never going to let her live this down.

“¿Había algo especial en la pulsera? (Was there something special about the bracelet?)” The first reporter asked, confusion lacing their voice. 

Aitana took a breath before responding, “Tenía mi número de teléfono (It had my phone number on it.).” The midfielder’s voice wavered slightly, hoping the reporters would hear that she didn’t want to say anything further. 

A staff member came to her rescue unintentionally, telling the reporters that they had no time for more questions. Aitana took a deep breath before muttering “gracias” into the mic in front of her. The Catalan quickly left the conference room and headed straight for the training pitch, hoping that none of her teammates were watching the conference. 

Thankfully they had started training a few minutes before Aitana told a room full of journalists that she had attempted to slip her number to you. While it was a tad bit embarrassing, a large part of her was hoping that maybe you would end up seeing clips of her conference and might reach out. 

Aitana would do it herself but she was nervous that you may reject her, despite how bold of a move it was to make a bracelet with her number on it to give to you if she had the chance. For now, Aitana was focused on training and tomorrow’s game. Barça was on a winning streak and she was not going to let this incident mess with her or her playing. 

[TWITTER POSTS]

barçafan1: DID ANYONE ELSE WATCH AITANA’S PRE GAME CONFERENCE?! SHE TRIED TO GIVE Y/N HER NUMBER

↳ ynfan1: ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

↳ barçafan2: YOURE JOKING ????

ynupdates: Barcelona player Aitana talked about Y/N during a recent pre-game conference! She talked about trying to give Y/N a bracelet with her number 👀

↳ ynfan2: Y/N in her athlete era for real?!

ynfan3: I WAS JUST JOKING WHEN I SAID I WAS STARTING A RUMOR BUT I DONT THINK ITS A JOKE ANYMORE

ynfan4: everyone manifest she goes to the game tomorrow!! 

ynfan5: EVERYONE WHO IS GOING TO THE GAME BETTER TAKE PICTURES IF THEY SEE Y/N THERE !!!

[latin5mamii]

how are you? you could write something where carlos is super anxious and juan carlos and his family can't help him calm down until you arrive, and then you manage to get him back to normal, then after that juan carlos and his family admire and support your relationship with carlos further

Good heart -Carlos Alcaraz

|Warnings: none

|Summary: You're the only cure to your boyfriend's anxiety.

|Author's note: Thank you for the idea and for the support.

Sorry for the long wait, love u!

You’re on your bed, waiting for your boyfriend to come home after a long workout because of his match for tomorrow with Djokovic, while unexpectedly a call from Carlos’s coach makes your phone buzz.

"¿Si?"

(Yes?)

“Y/N, perdón si te molesto, ¿podrías venir a la corte ahora mismo?”

(Y/N, sorry if i disturb you, but could you come to the court real quick?)

You immediately thought of the worse,was he hurt? What happened?

“¿Le pasó algo?”

(Did something happen to him?)

“Más o menos, pero no es nada físico. Es más bien psicológico.”

(Kinda,but it's nothing physical.It's more like,psychological)

“Estaré ahí lo antes posible”

(I'll be there as soon as possible)

And then you hung up.

Your boyfriend was a really strong type on the outside, but he was actually insecure almost all the time: about his preparation, his training, his matches, and you felt sorry for him, so you tried to comfort and support him all the time.

When you arrived at the court, you almost ran towards him. 

He was on the verge of crying and only seeing him like that, made you feel worse.

His coach looks at you and almost whispers, probably he doesn’t want him to hear.

“Llamamos a su familia, tratamos de consolarlo, pero nada funcionó, así que te llamé incluso si él no quería. Los dejaré solos un rato, ¿vale?”

(We called his family, we tried to comfort him, but nothing really worked, so I called you even if he didn't want to.I'll leave you two alone for a bit, okay?)

You nod and he walks away from you.

“¿Qué pasó Carlos?”

(What happened, Carlos?)

"Nada, ni siquiera quería que te llamara"

(Nothing, I didn't even want him to call you)

"Eres fuerte, Carlos. Puedes vencerlo mañana, no hay necesidad de estar así, ¿vale?"

(You're strong,Carlos.You can beat him tomorrow, there's no need to be like this, okay?)

He rests his head on your chest, holding you close to him as if you could vanish at any second.

"Me encanta cuando te quedas a mi lado, incluso si soy así."

(I love when you stay by my side, even if i'm like this)

"Te amo, pero tienes que jurarme que ahora estás relajado. Si lo estás, yo también lo estoy."

(I love you, but you have to swear to me that you're relaxed now.If you are, i am too)

He replies to your words with a sweet kiss, and you both see Juan walking towards you.

"¿Está todo bien ahora hijo?"

(Is Everything okay now son?)

He smiles and goes to the lock rooms to change himself.

“Gracias a Dios que estás aquí. Al principio solo pensé que las chicas podrían distraerlo, pero tú, lo ayudas mucho y él está muy agradecido. Ambos tienen buen corazón.”

(Thank God you're here.At first I only thought that girls could make him distracted,but you,you help him so much and he's so grateful.You both have a good heart.)

You can only smile at his words, hoping that he’ll stay by your side forever.

[too-many-rooks]

an au where Taverner agrees to giving River up to Frank would be crazy because like... would mi-5 even hope river would feed them back info? or would it be like just getting rid of a loose end like Taverner wanted to do since the training exercise? it's such a wild train of thought I love it

One of the reasons I’m so obsessed with Frank is all the myriad ways that he could totally mess River up, and why the idea of Taverner agreeing to Frank’s pitch, or maybe part of his blackmail failsafe demands being to let him nab him River is so fun, is that there’s just so many potential takes on it, and they’re all super interesting! Bc, yeah, yes all of these! Would there be a hope/expectation from River to be feeding information back, even after he’s essentially been sold and burned by them, and presumably growing increasingly indoctrinated and under Frank’s control? Mi5 have apparently been using Frank to do their dirt work for years, so is River joining the family assassin business/cult presented as just like… a wild secondment from Slough House?

Would Diana be tempted to just get rid of the problem/ constant thorn in her side that is River Cartwright? @sloughhousestaircase made the really interesting point of Diana being like ‘where were you x months ago when I needed to ditch this kid?’ Bc yeah, if Frank had approached her before River was sent to Slough House, and came under the protection of Lamb, and Diana still trying to figure out how to get rid of him, would she have been more tempted? Would she be able to pitch it to a much less disillusioned and more naive River as an undercover operation - but would she be able to mantain any level of control over him once he’s with Frank, and realising who he is, and how they’re connected?

Me and @countessrivers, who are very much driving the ‘River being part of his dads assassin cult’ train, have pitched each other a bunch of different ideas for how a Diana trading River scenario would go down, which a range across a whole spectrum of au’s from like, post s3 developing werewolf River needing to be trained and controlled (to be used as an asset by Diana,) and Frank coming in as like the werewolf specialist, (and then obviously indoctrinating his son and bringing him back to the werewolf pack at Les Arbres.)

Or more closely following on canon, Frank’s promise in the books that they’ll ‘talk soon’, maybe Frank finally being able to have a drink with his son once he’s finally out of extensive debriefing/medical treatment for Thames water in the lungs, which he can achieve by breaking into River’s flat and waiting for him and drugging his glass to knock him out, and making it easier to take his son home without any fuss.

There’s just, so many ways Frank could absolutely fuck up River’s life. And I think that’s beautiful.

[lesmisletters-daily]

The Bishop In The Presence Of An Unknown Light

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.1.10

At an epoch a little later than the date of the letter cited in the preceding pages, he did a thing which, if the whole town was to be believed, was even more hazardous than his trip across the mountains infested with bandits.

In the country near D—— a man lived quite alone. This man, we will state at once, was a former member of the Convention. His name was G——

Member of the Convention, G—— was mentioned with a sort of horror in the little world of D—— A member of the Convention—can you imagine such a thing? That existed from the time when people called each other <i>thou</i>, and when they said “citizen.” This man was almost a monster. He had not voted for the death of the king, but almost. He was a quasi-regicide. He had been a terrible man. How did it happen that such a man had not been brought before a provost’s court, on the return of the legitimate princes? They need not have cut off his head, if you please; clemency must be exercised, agreed; but a good banishment for life. An example, in short, etc. Besides, he was an atheist, like all the rest of those people. Gossip of the geese about the vulture.

Was G—— a vulture after all? Yes; if he were to be judged by the element of ferocity in this solitude of his. As he had not voted for the death of the king, he had not been included in the decrees of exile, and had been able to remain in France.

He dwelt at a distance of three-quarters of an hour from the city, far from any hamlet, far from any road, in some hidden turn of a very wild valley, no one knew exactly where. He had there, it was said, a sort of field, a hole, a lair. There were no neighbors, not even passers-by. Since he had dwelt in that valley, the path which led thither had disappeared under a growth of grass. The locality was spoken of as though it had been the dwelling of a hangman.

Nevertheless, the Bishop meditated on the subject, and from time to time he gazed at the horizon at a point where a clump of trees marked the valley of the former member of the Convention, and he said, “There is a soul yonder which is lonely.”

And he added, deep in his own mind, “I owe him a visit.”

But, let us avow it, this idea, which seemed natural at the first blush, appeared to him after a moment’s reflection, as strange, impossible, and almost repulsive. For, at bottom, he shared the general impression, and the old member of the Convention inspired him, without his being clearly conscious of the fact himself, with that sentiment which borders on hate, and which is so well expressed by the word estrangement.

Still, should the scab of the sheep cause the shepherd to recoil? No. But what a sheep!

The good Bishop was perplexed. Sometimes he set out in that direction; then he returned.

Finally, the rumor one day spread through the town that a sort of young shepherd, who served the member of the Convention in his hovel, had come in quest of a doctor; that the old wretch was dying, that paralysis was gaining on him, and that he would not live over night.—“Thank God!” some added.

The Bishop took his staff, put on his cloak, on account of his too threadbare cassock, as we have mentioned, and because of the evening breeze which was sure to rise soon, and set out.

The sun was setting, and had almost touched the horizon when the Bishop arrived at the excommunicated spot. With a certain beating of the heart, he recognized the fact that he was near the lair. He strode over a ditch, leaped a hedge, made his way through a fence of dead boughs, entered a neglected paddock, took a few steps with a good deal of boldness, and suddenly, at the extremity of the waste land, and behind lofty brambles, he caught sight of the cavern.

It was a very low hut, poor, small, and clean, with a vine nailed against the outside.

Near the door, in an old wheel-chair, the armchair of the peasants, there was a white-haired man, smiling at the sun.

Near the seated man stood a young boy, the shepherd lad. He was offering the old man a jar of milk.

While the Bishop was watching him, the old man spoke: “Thank you,” he said, “I need nothing.” And his smile quitted the sun to rest upon the child.

The Bishop stepped forward. At the sound which he made in walking, the old man turned his head, and his face expressed the sum total of the surprise which a man can still feel after a long life.

“This is the first time since I have been here,” said he, “that any one has entered here. Who are you, sir?”

The Bishop answered:—

“My name is Bienvenu Myriel.”

“Bienvenu Myriel? I have heard that name. Are you the man whom the people call Monseigneur Welcome?”

“I am.”

The old man resumed with a half-smile

“In that case, you are my bishop?”

“Something of that sort.”

“Enter, sir.”

The member of the Convention extended his hand to the Bishop, but the Bishop did not take it. The Bishop confined himself to the remark:—

“I am pleased to see that I have been misinformed. You certainly do not seem to me to be ill.”

“Monsieur,” replied the old man, “I am going to recover.”

He paused, and then said:—

“I shall die three hours hence.”

Then he continued:—

“I am something of a doctor; I know in what fashion the last hour draws on. Yesterday, only my feet were cold; to-day, the chill has ascended to my knees; now I feel it mounting to my waist; when it reaches the heart, I shall stop. The sun is beautiful, is it not? I had myself wheeled out here to take a last look at things. You can talk to me; it does not fatigue me. You have done well to come and look at a man who is on the point of death. It is well that there should be witnesses at that moment. One has one’s caprices; I should have liked to last until the dawn, but I know that I shall hardly live three hours. It will be night then. What does it matter, after all? Dying is a simple affair. One has no need of the light for that. So be it. I shall die by starlight.”

The old man turned to the shepherd lad:—

“Go to thy bed; thou wert awake all last night; thou art tired.”

The child entered the hut.

The old man followed him with his eyes, and added, as though speaking to himself:—

“I shall die while he sleeps. The two slumbers may be good neighbors.”

The Bishop was not touched as it seems that he should have been. He did not think he discerned God in this manner of dying; let us say the whole, for these petty contradictions of great hearts must be indicated like the rest: he, who on occasion, was so fond of laughing at “His Grace,” was rather shocked at not being addressed as Monseigneur, and he was almost tempted to retort “citizen.” He was assailed by a fancy for peevish familiarity, common enough to doctors and priests, but which was not habitual with him. This man, after all, this member of the Convention, this representative of the people, had been one of the powerful ones of the earth; for the first time in his life, probably, the Bishop felt in a mood to be severe.

Meanwhile, the member of the Convention had been surveying him with a modest cordiality, in which one could have distinguished, possibly, that humility which is so fitting when one is on the verge of returning to dust.

The Bishop, on his side, although he generally restrained his curiosity, which, in his opinion, bordered on a fault, could not refrain from examining the member of the Convention with an attention which, as it did not have its course in sympathy, would have served his conscience as a matter of reproach, in connection with any other man. A member of the Convention produced on him somewhat the effect of being outside the pale of the law, even of the law of charity. G——, calm, his body almost upright, his voice vibrating, was one of those octogenarians who form the subject of astonishment to the physiologist. The Revolution had many of these men, proportioned to the epoch. In this old man one was conscious of a man put to the proof. Though so near to his end, he preserved all the gestures of health. In his clear glance, in his firm tone, in the robust movement of his shoulders, there was something calculated to disconcert death. Azrael, the Mohammedan angel of the sepulchre, would have turned back, and thought that he had mistaken the door. G—— seemed to be dying because he willed it so. There was freedom in his agony. His legs alone were motionless. It was there that the shadows held him fast. His feet were cold and dead, but his head survived with all the power of life, and seemed full of light. G——, at this solemn moment, resembled the king in that tale of the Orient who was flesh above and marble below.

There was a stone there. The Bishop sat down. The exordium was abrupt.

“I congratulate you,” said he, in the tone which one uses for a reprimand. “You did not vote for the death of the king, after all.”

The old member of the Convention did not appear to notice the bitter meaning underlying the words “after all.” He replied. The smile had quite disappeared from his face.

“Do not congratulate me too much, sir. I did vote for the death of the tyrant.”

It was the tone of austerity answering the tone of severity.

“What do you mean to say?” resumed the Bishop.

“I mean to say that man has a tyrant,—ignorance. I voted for the death of that tyrant. That tyrant engendered royalty, which is authority falsely understood, while science is authority rightly understood. Man should be governed only by science.”

“And conscience,” added the Bishop.

“It is the same thing. Conscience is the quantity of innate science which we have within us.”

Monseigneur Bienvenu listened in some astonishment to this language, which was very new to him.

The member of the Convention resumed:—

“So far as Louis XVI. was concerned, I said ‘no.’ I did not think that I had the right to kill a man; but I felt it my duty to exterminate evil. I voted the end of the tyrant, that is to say, the end of prostitution for woman, the end of slavery for man, the end of night for the child. In voting for the Republic, I voted for that. I voted for fraternity, concord, the dawn. I have aided in the overthrow of prejudices and errors. The crumbling away of prejudices and errors causes light. We have caused the fall of the old world, and the old world, that vase of miseries, has become, through its upsetting upon the human race, an urn of joy.”

“Mixed joy,” said the Bishop.

“You may say troubled joy, and to-day, after that fatal return of the past, which is called 1814, joy which has disappeared! Alas! The work was incomplete, I admit: we demolished the ancient regime in deeds; we were not able to suppress it entirely in ideas. To destroy abuses is not sufficient; customs must be modified. The mill is there no longer; the wind is still there.”

“You have demolished. It may be of use to demolish, but I distrust a demolition complicated with wrath.”

“Right has its wrath, Bishop; and the wrath of right is an element of progress. In any case, and in spite of whatever may be said, the French Revolution is the most important step of the human race since the advent of Christ. Incomplete, it may be, but sublime. It set free all the unknown social quantities; it softened spirits, it calmed, appeased, enlightened; it caused the waves of civilization to flow over the earth. It was a good thing. The French Revolution is the consecration of humanity.”

The Bishop could not refrain from murmuring:—

“Yes? ’93!”

The member of the Convention straightened himself up in his chair with an almost lugubrious solemnity, and exclaimed, so far as a dying man is capable of exclamation:—

“Ah, there you go; ’93! I was expecting that word. A cloud had been forming for the space of fifteen hundred years; at the end of fifteen hundred years it burst. You are putting the thunderbolt on its trial.”

The Bishop felt, without, perhaps, confessing it, that something within him had suffered extinction. Nevertheless, he put a good face on the matter. He replied:—

“The judge speaks in the name of justice; the priest speaks in the name of pity, which is nothing but a more lofty justice. A thunderbolt should commit no error.” And he added, regarding the member of the Convention steadily the while, “Louis XVII.?”

The conventionary stretched forth his hand and grasped the Bishop’s arm.

“Louis XVII.! let us see. For whom do you mourn? is it for the innocent child? very good; in that case I mourn with you. Is it for the royal child? I demand time for reflection. To me, the brother of Cartouche, an innocent child who was hung up by the armpits in the Place de Grève, until death ensued, for the sole crime of having been the brother of Cartouche, is no less painful than the grandson of Louis XV., an innocent child, martyred in the tower of the Temple, for the sole crime of having been grandson of Louis XV.”

“Monsieur,” said the Bishop, “I like not this conjunction of names.”

“Cartouche? Louis XV.? To which of the two do you object?”

A momentary silence ensued. The Bishop almost regretted having come, and yet he felt vaguely and strangely shaken.

The conventionary resumed:—

“Ah, Monsieur Priest, you love not the crudities of the true. Christ loved them. He seized a rod and cleared out the Temple. His scourge, full of lightnings, was a harsh speaker of truths. When he cried, <i>‘Sinite parvulos,’</i> he made no distinction between the little children. It would not have embarrassed him to bring together the Dauphin of Barabbas and the Dauphin of Herod. Innocence, Monsieur, is its own crown. Innocence has no need to be a highness. It is as august in rags as in fleurs de lys.”

“That is true,” said the Bishop in a low voice.

“I persist,” continued the conventionary G—— “You have mentioned Louis XVII. to me. Let us come to an understanding. Shall we weep for all the innocent, all martyrs, all children, the lowly as well as the exalted? I agree to that. But in that case, as I have told you, we must go back further than ’93, and our tears must begin before Louis XVII. I will weep with you over the children of kings, provided that you will weep with me over the children of the people.”

“I weep for all,” said the Bishop.

“Equally!” exclaimed conventionary G——; “and if the balance must incline, let it be on the side of the people. They have been suffering longer.”

Another silence ensued. The conventionary was the first to break it. He raised himself on one elbow, took a bit of his cheek between his thumb and his forefinger, as one does mechanically when one interrogates and judges, and appealed to the Bishop with a gaze full of all the forces of the death agony. It was almost an explosion.

“Yes, sir, the people have been suffering a long while. And hold! that is not all, either; why have you just questioned me and talked to me about Louis XVII.? I know you not. Ever since I have been in these parts I have dwelt in this enclosure alone, never setting foot outside, and seeing no one but that child who helps me. Your name has reached me in a confused manner, it is true, and very badly pronounced, I must admit; but that signifies nothing: clever men have so many ways of imposing on that honest goodman, the people. By the way, I did not hear the sound of your carriage; you have left it yonder, behind the coppice at the fork of the roads, no doubt. I do not know you, I tell you. You have told me that you are the Bishop; but that affords me no information as to your moral personality. In short, I repeat my question. Who are you? You are a bishop; that is to say, a prince of the church, one of those gilded men with heraldic bearings and revenues, who have vast prebends,—the bishopric of D—— fifteen thousand francs settled income, ten thousand in perquisites; total, twenty-five thousand francs,—who have kitchens, who have liveries, who make good cheer, who eat moor-hens on Friday, who strut about, a lackey before, a lackey behind, in a gala coach, and who have palaces, and who roll in their carriages in the name of Jesus Christ who went barefoot! You are a prelate,—revenues, palace, horses, servants, good table, all the sensualities of life; you have this like the rest, and like the rest, you enjoy it; it is well; but this says either too much or too little; this does not enlighten me upon the intrinsic and essential value of the man who comes with the probable intention of bringing wisdom to me. To whom do I speak? Who are you?”

The Bishop hung his head and replied, <i>“Vermis sum</i>—I am a worm.”

“A worm of the earth in a carriage?” growled the conventionary.

It was the conventionary’s turn to be arrogant, and the Bishop’s to be humble.

The Bishop resumed mildly:—

“So be it, sir. But explain to me how my carriage, which is a few paces off behind the trees yonder, how my good table and the moor-hens which I eat on Friday, how my twenty-five thousand francs income, how my palace and my lackeys prove that clemency is not a duty, and that ’93 was not inexorable.”

The conventionary passed his hand across his brow, as though to sweep away a cloud.

“Before replying to you,” he said, “I beseech you to pardon me. I have just committed a wrong, sir. You are at my house, you are my guest, I owe you courtesy. You discuss my ideas, and it becomes me to confine myself to combating your arguments. Your riches and your pleasures are advantages which I hold over you in the debate; but good taste dictates that I shall not make use of them. I promise you to make no use of them in the future.”

“I thank you,” said the Bishop.

G—— resumed.

“Let us return to the explanation which you have asked of me. Where were we? What were you saying to me? That ’93 was inexorable?”

“Inexorable; yes,” said the Bishop. “What think you of Marat clapping his hands at the guillotine?”

“What think you of Bossuet chanting the <i>Te Deum</i> over the dragonnades?”

The retort was a harsh one, but it attained its mark with the directness of a point of steel. The Bishop quivered under it; no reply occurred to him; but he was offended by this mode of alluding to Bossuet. The best of minds will have their fetiches, and they sometimes feel vaguely wounded by the want of respect of logic.

The conventionary began to pant; the asthma of the agony which is mingled with the last breaths interrupted his voice; still, there was a perfect lucidity of soul in his eyes. He went on:—

“Let me say a few words more in this and that direction; I am willing. Apart from the Revolution, which, taken as a whole, is an immense human affirmation, ’93 is, alas! a rejoinder. You think it inexorable, sir; but what of the whole monarchy, sir? Carrier is a bandit; but what name do you give to Montrevel? Fouquier-Tainville is a rascal; but what is your opinion as to Lamoignon-Bâville? Maillard is terrible; but Saulx-Tavannes, if you please? Duchêne senior is ferocious; but what epithet will you allow me for the elder Letellier? Jourdan-Coupe-Tetê is a monster; but not so great a one as M. the Marquis de Louvois. Sir, sir, I am sorry for Marie Antoinette, archduchess and queen; but I am also sorry for that poor Huguenot woman, who, in 1685, under Louis the Great, sir, while with a nursing infant, was bound, naked to the waist, to a stake, and the child kept at a distance; her breast swelled with milk and her heart with anguish; the little one, hungry and pale, beheld that breast and cried and agonized; the executioner said to the woman, a mother and a nurse, ‘Abjure!’ giving her her choice between the death of her infant and the death of her conscience. What say you to that torture of Tantalus as applied to a mother? Bear this well in mind sir: the French Revolution had its reasons for existence; its wrath will be absolved by the future; its result is the world made better. From its most terrible blows there comes forth a caress for the human race. I abridge, I stop, I have too much the advantage; moreover, I am dying.”

And ceasing to gaze at the Bishop, the conventionary concluded his thoughts in these tranquil words:—

“Yes, the brutalities of progress are called revolutions. When they are over, this fact is recognized,—that the human race has been treated harshly, but that it has progressed.”

The conventionary doubted not that he had successively conquered all the inmost intrenchments of the Bishop. One remained, however, and from this intrenchment, the last resource of Monseigneur Bienvenu’s resistance, came forth this reply, wherein appeared nearly all the harshness of the beginning:—

“Progress should believe in God. Good cannot have an impious servitor. He who is an atheist is but a bad leader for the human race.”

The former representative of the people made no reply. He was seized with a fit of trembling. He looked towards heaven, and in his glance a tear gathered slowly. When the eyelid was full, the tear trickled down his livid cheek, and he said, almost in a stammer, quite low, and to himself, while his eyes were plunged in the depths:—

“O thou! O ideal! Thou alone existest!”

The Bishop experienced an indescribable shock.

After a pause, the old man raised a finger heavenward and said:—

“The infinite is. He is there. If the infinite had no person, person would be without limit; it would not be infinite; in other words, it would not exist. There is, then, an <i>I</i>. That <i>I</i> of the infinite is God.”

The dying man had pronounced these last words in a loud voice, and with the shiver of ecstasy, as though he beheld some one. When he had spoken, his eyes closed. The effort had exhausted him. It was evident that he had just lived through in a moment the few hours which had been left to him. That which he had said brought him nearer to him who is in death. The supreme moment was approaching.

The Bishop understood this; time pressed; it was as a priest that he had come: from extreme coldness he had passed by degrees to extreme emotion; he gazed at those closed eyes, he took that wrinkled, aged and ice-cold hand in his, and bent over the dying man.

“This hour is the hour of God. Do you not think that it would be regrettable if we had met in vain?”

The conventionary opened his eyes again. A gravity mingled with gloom was imprinted on his countenance.

“Bishop,” said he, with a slowness which probably arose more from his dignity of soul than from the failing of his strength, “I have passed my life in meditation, study, and contemplation. I was sixty years of age when my country called me and commanded me to concern myself with its affairs. I obeyed. Abuses existed, I combated them; tyrannies existed, I destroyed them; rights and principles existed, I proclaimed and confessed them. Our territory was invaded, I defended it; France was menaced, I offered my breast. I was not rich; I am poor. I have been one of the masters of the state; the vaults of the treasury were encumbered with specie to such a degree that we were forced to shore up the walls, which were on the point of bursting beneath the weight of gold and silver; I dined in Dead Tree Street, at twenty-two sous. I have succored the oppressed, I have comforted the suffering. I tore the cloth from the altar, it is true; but it was to bind up the wounds of my country. I have always upheld the march forward of the human race, forward towards the light, and I have sometimes resisted progress without pity. I have, when the occasion offered, protected my own adversaries, men of your profession. And there is at Peteghem, in Flanders, at the very spot where the Merovingian kings had their summer palace, a convent of Urbanists, the Abbey of Sainte Claire en Beaulieu, which I saved in 1793. I have done my duty according to my powers, and all the good that I was able. After which, I was hunted down, pursued, persecuted, blackened, jeered at, scorned, cursed, proscribed. For many years past, I with my white hair have been conscious that many people think they have the right to despise me; to the poor ignorant masses I present the visage of one damned. And I accept this isolation of hatred, without hating any one myself. Now I am eighty-six years old; I am on the point of death. What is it that you have come to ask of me?”

<i>“Your blessing,”</i> said the Bishop.

And he knelt down.

When the Bishop raised his head again, the face of the conventionary had become august. He had just expired.

The Bishop returned home, deeply absorbed in thoughts which cannot be known to us. He passed the whole night in prayer. On the following morning some bold and curious persons attempted to speak to him about member of the Convention G——; he contented himself with pointing heavenward.

From that moment he redoubled his tenderness and brotherly feeling towards all children and sufferers.

Any allusion to “that old wretch of a G——” caused him to fall into a singular preoccupation. No one could say that the passage of that soul before his, and the reflection of that grand conscience upon his, did not count for something in his approach to perfection.

This “pastoral visit” naturally furnished an occasion for a murmur of comment in all the little local coteries.

“Was the bedside of such a dying man as that the proper place for a bishop? There was evidently no conversion to be expected. All those revolutionists are backsliders. Then why go there? What was there to be seen there? He must have been very curious indeed to see a soul carried off by the devil.”

One day a dowager of the impertinent variety who thinks herself spiritual, addressed this sally to him, “Monseigneur, people are inquiring when Your Greatness will receive the red cap!”—“Oh! oh! that’s a coarse color,” replied the Bishop. “It is lucky that those who despise it in a cap revere it in a hat.”

[thevagueambition]

A concept I'm obsessed with, and which makes a substantial appearance in Enjolras' barriacde scenes, is the concept of moral martyrdom

The ends don't justify the means, but that does not mean that awful means are never not to achieve just goals. The powerful do not give up their power on a whim. All that the people has, the people has fought for.

If natural law can judge all existing law only in criticizing its ends, then positive law can judge all evolving law only in criticizing its means. If justice is the criterion of ends, legality is that of means. Notwith­standing this antithesis, however, both schools meet in their common basic dogma: just ends can be attained by justified means, justified means used for just ends. Natural law attempts, by the justness of the ends, to "justify" the means, positive law to "guarantee" the justness of the ends through the justification of the means. This antinomy would prove insoluble if the common dogmatic assumption were false, if justified means on the one hand and just ends on the other were in irreconcilable conflict. Critique of Violence, Walter Benjamin

When Enjolras liquidates Cabuc for killing a civillian, Enjolras does the necessary and in so doing condemns himself.

"Citizens," said Enjolras, "what that man did is frightful, what I have done is horrible. He killed, therefore I killed him. I had to do it, because insurrection must have its discipline. Assassination is even more of a crime here than elsewhere; we are under the eyes of the Revolution, we are the priests of the Republic, we are the victims of duty, and must not be possible to slander our combat. I have, therefore, tried that man, and condemned him to death. As for myself, constrained as I am to do what I have done, and yet abhorring it, I have judged myself also, and you shall soon see to what I have condemned myself." [...] "In executing this man, I have obeyed necessity; but necessity is a monster of the old world, necessity's name is Fatality. Les Mis 4.12.8

If the uprising had become a revolution and if said revolution had succeeded in making the world Enjolras was imagining, Enjolras would not think he had a place in that world. Achieving the just would not wipe his hands clean of what he has done with them to build it. What he has done is horrible and doing horrible things is the purvey of necessity -- not of the righteous future he glimpses from the barricade's horizon.

"What a pity!" said Combeferre. "What hideous things these butcheries are! Come, when there are no more kings, there will be no more war. Enjolras, you are taking aim at that sergeant, you are not looking at him. Fancy, he is a charming young man; he is intrepid; it is evident that he is thoughtful; those young artillery-men are very well educated; he has a father, a mother, a family; he is probably in love; he is not more than five and twenty at the most; he might be your brother." "He is," said Enjolras. "Yes," replied Combeferre, "he is mine too. Well, let us not kill him." "Let me alone. It must be done." And a tear trickled slowly down Enjolras' marble cheek. At the same moment, he pressed the trigger of his rifle. Les Mis 5.1.8

The sergeant is Enjolras' brother, his comrade, his neighbour -- he is another human being whom Enjolras would prefer to treat with the care and dignity all human beings ought to be afforded. He is not the opressor class, but simply a tool of them -- a young man similar to Enjolras in all but ideology.

There is literal martyrdom, where one dies for the cause, and there is moral martyrdom, where one sacrifices one's clean hands, one's peace of mind, for the cause. Enjolras does both.

"I've given up all chance at inner peace. I've made my mind a sunless space. I share my dreams with ghosts. I wake up every day to an equation I wrote 15 years ago from which there's only one conclusion, I'm damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight, they've set me on a path from which there is no escape. I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost and by the time I looked down there was no longer any ground beneath my feet. What is my sacrifice? I'm condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else's future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I'll never see. And the ego that started this fight will never have a mirror or an audience or the light of gratitude. So what do I sacrifice? Everything!" One Way Out, Andor

[zzalina]

Los Mis 1992 and 2010 - "Do you hear the people sing?"/"La canción del pueblo"

After I made a post about Los Mis 2010, someone asked me about the spanish translation of the musical and I told them we have two different translations (probably we'll soon have a 3rd one). This has been in my drafts for a while but it's finally time to talk about "Do you hear the people sing?" comparing the 1992 version to the 2010 and english one. Let's go!

I grew up listening to my mother sing this musical but even if she knows many songs for some reason I only know "La canción del pueblo" so that's why this is the one I'll be talking about. The 1992 translation differs a lot from the english one and the 2010 translation is closer.

First of all, the title is the same for both. It's "La canción del pueblo" ("The people's song"), similar to english but not a question.

Now let's start with the song. First original english lyrics and their literal spanish translation in case you want them to compare and then both spanish versions and their english translations!:

I know the song starts with the chorus but I'll leave it for last because it's what will give us the most to talk about. The rest is honestly pretty similar in both translations.

Again, very similar. Both translations change the first two verses but it's the same spirit. Now to the chorus which is, in my opinion, the most interesting part.

The 1992 version is VERY different from the english one although I just discovered the first verse is more similar to the french version!! "A la volonté du peuple" meaning "to the will of the people" is pretty similar to "todo por la voluntad de nuestro pueblo y su nación". Regardless, the rest of the verses aren't similar to that one either :/

As I said, I grew up listening to the 1992 version even before I knew what Les Mis was about and, for me, the old version sounds more military (maybe the singers' voices have something to do with this) which made me had a very different idea of what Les Mis was about. Here's a link if you want to listen to it (min 31:50). THis is more obvious in “One day more” (which was translated to “Un día más” the first time, “Sale el sol” the second time, I talked about the new translation of this song in this post). Let's compare what Enjolras says:

Talking about "troops" made little me think they were the army or something. I didn't listen to this song as much and never learnt the lyrics but yknow.

I was going to end this post here but while searching for the audio of the 1992 version I found another version used by what I believe is a chorus of activists who have sung it at different protests. Here's a link if you want to see the video. I'm not sure where these lyrics come from and I think they made them up for the ocassion. I'm not gonna explain the political context of the protest because this post is already too long and I was too young when it happened but I just wanted to share the lyrics:

I find them beautiful. Maybe I'm biased because It's my country and the real life events where this was sung were difficult even as a child. Idk, let's just say 2012 was a strong year for protests in Spain.

Anyway, this post turned out to be way longer than I thought. I hope you found it interesting! I'll probably do more comparing english and spanish lyrics but not the 1992 ones

[luceracastro]

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐎

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨̀𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and Simon never got along, but you’ve both been stuck in one another’s life since even though he was a nuisance to you he was basically your brothers brother, so when you come home from college from the summer and head over to the beach house your parents had owned ever since you were young for a family vacation, it was a shame to see he was also invited, but soon certain feeling come to light

Warnings: warning will be added to every chapter, none in this one except Simon and reader don’t really get along yet

Hice este fic pensando en mi hermosa Sof❤️ @espinasrubi @castawaycherry

Your parents insisted you come to the beach house for the summer, you were exhausted from school and the stuffy dorm you were forced to live in but you also thought time on the beach would be calming and fun

So here you were going to meet up with them a day late, you had walked up the porch steps hoping your brother would be willing to drag your suitcases to your room for you, you knocked on the door and waited until you heard the lock click

“Mi niña!” Your moms voice was filled with excitement to see you and you giggled as she engulfed you in her arms “Hola mami” your dad walked over and wrapped his arms around you and your mother

“Cómo estás mi niña” your parents pulled away “bien, un poco cansada” you sighed with a smile on your lips “y los estudios?” Your dad asked “todo bien papi” you nodded and he chuckled “Y Joel?” You asked for your older brother

“En la sala jugando en el vídeo juego” your dad said “ven vamos para que los saludas” your mom pulled your hand, “los?” Was there someone besides your brother, you had walked into the living area and your eyes widened and you were screaming in the inside

Simon. You and him had a rocky relationship and history, your brother met him in the 5th grade and as he grew up beside you he always was very annoying towards you, teasing and bothering you

He would make unnecessary jokes and embarrass you in front of others, your parents and brothers found it quite harmless but if you could have you would’ve choked him, “Hola mi boluda” your brother hugged you with a teasing smile, he knew well how you felt about Simon, you lazily hugged him back

“Aye mi pelotuda favorita” Simón hugged you but your arms hung at your side, “y que no me quieres ver?” He asked with a shit eating grin “la verdad no” you answered “T/n!” Your mother gave you a look

“Perdon” you mumbled “ah no pasa nada nena” he winked at you, you rolled your eyes “porque no le bajan las maletas a T/n muchachos” your mom pitched in and the two nodded walking out the living area, “Mami!” You whined and she looked at you

“Porque?!” She chuckled “amor anda no es nada malo que Simón nos acompaña” she said and you gave her a look, “ven vamos a tu cuarto” she led you up the steps and into your room, it looked the same nothing ever changing

You smiled at the frame of 5 year old you with your bucket full of shells at the beach, “voy acabar de preparar la cena mi amor” your mom kissed your cheek and left the room, you looked around your room and heard thumping near your door

“Ten” your brother brought your suitcase in while Simon held a bag and suitcase putting it down carefully “voy por la ultima” your brother left your room and you sighed as Simon stood there “No me extrañaste?” He asked amused leaning against the door frame and you looked at him with furrowed brows “no” you moved to open your empty drawer and brought one of your suitcases on top of the bed, “necesitas algo?” You asked looking over at him

He shook his head “No para nada pelotuda” you looked at him annoyed “No me digas así” you sternly said as you folded your clothes “perdon, pelotuda” you sighed agitatedly and tried to keep your composure

“Ahora por que tan calladita pelotuda?” He asked and you sighed “Simon ya” you gave him a look and before he could think of bothering you any more your brother walked in, “ya es la última” he left it on your bed “gracias” he nodded before leaving the room Simon following after him

You went to close and lock your door before going back to unpacking, you wanted a chill and fun summer but it seemed that it was a crime to do that, as long as Simon was there you’d be in the worst mood.

A knock on your door alerted you “quien?” You called out “Yo, ya esta la cena” it was your dads voice and you got out of bed and opened the door, you sat down across from Simon and your brother

Your mom had passed the food around and all of your served yourselves “me pasa’s el pan” Simon didn’t insult you that you believed he was speaking to someone else, you looked at him and he held a innocent look, you grabbed the plate full of fresh bread and handed it to him as he took it

Your mom gave you a look of “see he isn’t so bad” you wanted to roll your eyes but suppressed the urge to do so, you continued eating and felt a shoe slightly kick your shin and you looked at Simon who was in front of you, you gave him a look,

He smiled and kept on eating his food, just seeing him made you lose your appetite, “estas bien?” Your dad asked and you turned to look at him nodding “Si”.

After you all finished eating your mom gave you the task of picking up which you had done and now you were washing the dishes, “hola” Simon’s annoying voice made you sigh “hola” your voice was stern as you kept washing the dish in your hands

He walked over hands squeezing your hips making you jolt and drop the sponge and dish “Eres un molestia!” You were fed up and you’d only been there for 5 hours, 5, he snickered and sighed

“No, no soy una molestia nenita, tu nomas eres muy dramática” he said with a smug smile on his lips and you groaned “Simon, por favor, déjame en paz” you tried to clarify that you wanted to be left alone and he shrugged “y si no quiero?” He said making you roll your eyes

“Déjame en paz” you said once again before getting the rag near the sink drying the soapy water from your hands and leaving the kitchen, you had walked into your room and locked yourself in your room and plopped down on your bed

You did slightly feel bad for yelling in his face especially for calling him a bother, but it was true he was doing too much and for no reason

You had changed and laid down, this was better that your whole day for sure.

A/n: guess who started a new fic! I hope all my Simon lovers like this fic! It’s basically a mix of enemies to lovers/ brothers best friend!

Also likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated but not required just as long as you all enjoy reading my loves!!!!!!

Taglist: @castawaycherry @espinasrubi @madame-fear @creative-heart

[williamvapespeare]

for the writers' prompts: 55 & 65 :)

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones? Well given that I'm currently all the way at the bottom of the DBD hole, I'm spending most of my fic time writing The Lads, and they're both amazing nuanced characters to explore. Personally I find Edwin's head a lot easier to get into just because I think we have more similar reference points (yes, this is embarrassing LOL in all ways but physical I am a languishing turn of the century gentleman) and I also just find the cadence of him comes more smoothly to me? I do get a lot of lovely comments about how I write Charles though and I LOVE writing from his pov (lol at me writing my one multi-chapter fic from Charles' pov tho) it just comes more in like...little jolts for me whereas Edwin flows - but that's kind of a beautiful thing because those processes almost mirror the boys themselves? ...also I don't write Les Mis fic anymore but Grantaire is THE character for me. Again with all the same reference points, the flow of his thoughts, etc. Love that sad sad bisexual man.

65. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project. I'm currently slowly slowly tracking through a couple of smaller fics you guys will see soon! But there's a scene at the veeeery end of The Case of David Bowie's Made up Sexuality that just makes me giggle and kick my little heels in the air like a jester. (Non-spoilery emoji description: 🤨💖💜💙📬). That scene is written (as is a lot of the fic) but I just need to write my way there fully hahah. I'll get there eventually I PROMISE!!!

[nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx]

Helpless part 43, however much we fear the truth we must face it

Hi, I guess I'm doing this now...? Will gave it to me with the second Heartstopper book, I don't really know what I'm doing but I guess I'm meant to write down my thoughts sooooo..... I hate myself, I wish I was dead, I'm a freak, I can't even fucking eat for fucks sake what the fuck is wrong with me, the only good part if my life right now is Will an he's bound to leave soon enough. Fuck I wish I had a fag on me but I already know I won't get away with that in the infirmary, it's not that bad but it makes me feel so fucking useless, maybe if I shadow travelled back to my cabin I could get some, Will would fucking murder me but I might do it.

Here is a list of reasons I hate myself because that seems fucking productive:

1. I'm a fag that deserves to burn in Hell

2. I'm dependent on drugs before I can drive (legally)

3. I can't fucking eat like a normal fucking person

4. I hurt everyone I touch

5. I'm a fucking twig

6. I can't even use my fucking powers now that's how pathetic I've gotten

7. I'm a freak

8. I nearly betrayed everyone

9. I'm a shit brother to Hazel

10. I managed to make my own sister hate me

11. I'm a demigod

12. I can't just be fucking happy for once

13. I over think every fucking thing

14. I need my fucking mouth washed out with soap

15. The Catholic Church

I could say more but I don't think I have time for that, I'm gonna go and think about how I can kill myself while locked up in this place

Fuck is my only thought right now, kill me (PLEASE)

Bianca, mi dispiace, mi dispiace di essere quella di cui hai sempre dovuto prenderti cura, quella che hai praticamente cresciuto solo per riaverla. Vorrei essere morto al posto di te, ogni singolo giorno lo vorrei, vorrei poter essere buono come un fratello maggiore che eri per me per Hazel. Vorrei non essere una fottuta delusione, vorrei che tu non dovessi unirti alla Caccia per allontanarti da me. Spero che ti sia piaciuto essere rinato. Mi dispiace tanto per tutto.

Putain, je n’ai pas écrit en français depuis un certain temps, alors voyons si je me souviens encore comment le faire, si mon orthographe est décente, c’est seulement parce que j’ai passé environ une heure à écrire ces conneries, donc vous devriez toujours être déçu. Qu’est-ce que j’écris ? Aucune putain d’idée, mais j’ai déjà lu Heartstopper trois fois aujourd’hui et je pense que c’est trop gay, même pour moi, de le lire plus que cela en moins de cinq heures. Kayla est venue avec de la nourriture plus tôt, aucune idée de l’endroit où se trouve Will et je n’ai toujours pas mangé de merde parce que c’est à quel point je suis inutile.

I really wish I had a smoke right now, but I know I can't, I feel so fucking stressed for too many fucking reasons and my heads been pounding for hours, Kayla gave me a panadol a few hours ago but that did fucking nothing so yeah struggling to not hit my head repeatedly on a wall out of pain. I don't know why but I can't stop thinking about those nights when I was what, twelve? Probably because of the nightmares, I'm fucking useless aren't I? I couldn't even stop it from happening to Hazel, I'm fucking pathetic. Gods I can't wait to get out of this place, I love Will but I don't know how much longer I can take of this place. The bright lights shining into your eyes so much it gives you a headache, the scent of rubbing alcohol filling the room, the plain white walls that feel trapping, everything feels wrong. I know why I'm here, no one trust's me alone, the part they forgot to mention is that I'd be better off dead. I already know Leo, Piper and Jason talked shit about me on the Argo II, I know they all wanted to leave me in that jar, I know that to Percy and Annabeth I'm nothing more than a burden, I fucking hate myself and so do they so why can't they just let me fucking die?

***

_______

Guys the bold means it’s written, was gonna do underline but that doesn’t work in tumblr xx

[knottedskein]

El Paso.

My parents lovingly doted on me in Spanish. I unknowingly babbled nonsense aligned to no particular world. My boundless coos came from the safety of my nest. Maybe it was too soon to tell which way I would sway. I was just a baby. Una bebesita. Were my cries in English? ¿Soñaba en español? Did I want to play with a ball or ¿jugar con una pelota? Was my favorite color rosa mexicano or did I ask to surround myself with Barbie pink? Did I go by Débbie or Debbie? Did mami and papi anticipate that I would lose my way? And did they know I would find my own path?

Miami.

Here la historia begins. My thoughts became tangible and solidified. My sentences brincando between dos mundos. I want leche. I want a muñeca. ¡Quiero candy! Dos padres very confundidos by my melange of Spanglish. They tried to make sentido of my words. There was no order to a lenguaje unconstrained by reglas. Mama y papa tried to teach me how to contar. So I counted to mis papas: one, dos, three, four, cinco, seis, seven.....

San Antonio.

¡En esta casa hablamos español! I learned to navigate the awkward Spanish words with the twist of my rigid tongue. Mi pobre boca felt thick with palabras and ideas that had no release. My fragmented Spanish no longer glittered the floor in broken shards. Instead, it was precariously pieced together—held tightly with anglicized thoughts. I tried to make the palabras come out, but it only chipped away at something that was already broken. My parents would come to lament the choice I had made. In this house, I spoke English.

Puebla.

Mi vocabulario se alimento con cultura. Estuve intoxicada con los colores y sonidos. Mis palabras se volvieron miel. Sacarina. Dorada y viscosa. Vivía en un paraíso mexicano mientras conservé mi inglés con solo mis pensamientos. La miel atrapó mis pensamientos como ámbar y preservó mi ingenuidad. Mi inglés se mantuvo inmaculado con mi juventud. Mientras, mi español pudo madurar y explorar este nuevo terreno. Pero este néctar empalagoso no logró saciar las gargantas de los demás. Les ofrecí miel, cuando nada más quisieron la pureza del agua. I wanted nothing more than to offer the very nectar that had sanded the callouses off my tongue. Yet, their fangs drained the sweetness from my fragile veins. Their forked tongues stabbed sibilant snarls into my sensitive ears. Their talons tore at my paper-thin skin while I stretched my arms out in surrender. I begged for mercy, but I was met with their vitriol. Their venom spat across my face and the acid was left to blister my delicate flesh. My Spanish offended them. So, they left me branded with gleaming rosa scars. La gringa.

Farmington.

Chillicothe.

Selma.

I clenched my hands around mis palabras like the flawless diamantes I chiseled from mi tierra sagrada. No puedo dejar que escuchen mi español. They wouldn’t hear my Spanish. Pero los diamantes dug their resentment into my flesh with their sharp points. I held a precious hidden treasure in my palms that I feared would be ripped from my clutches by overzealous thieves. I wanted nothing more than to wash off the sangre that dripped from my pierced fingers. I wanted to thrash and scream— ¡Mira! ¡Mira como brillan! ¡Mira que preciosos y radiantes son! But when I finally spread my fingers out wide for the world to see, they only saw the blackest coal glistening with the redness of my fear. They snatched black diamonds and set my mundo ablaze. From the glowing embers, they branded my skin anew. The wetback.

San Antonio. Again.

Again. There were others like me, but were they like me? Were the manuals to their lives written in English or ¿escrito en español? Do they prefer flour tortillas or ¿prefieren tortillas de maiz? Did they have to climb up to the stage and prove to the world, that like, ¡No, en serio! ¡Te lo juro! Soy Mexicana! ¿O les arrancaban el micrófono de las manos a pesar de gritar, “No, I swear! I’m American!”? I was no longer alone. We were alone together. Our existence and identities became a performance; a dance for no one that particularly cared. "Watch the amazing acrobatics! See how we jump between two worlds!" Uno que nos rechazó por haber nacido en el mundo equivocado and one that unwelcomed us for being born with a different language caged behind our teeth. They tried to mark us out in the open, but our skins held no more room for new scars. Instead, they abandon like the waste they deemed us. We were left ignored and unworthy of recognition. We became expendable. Unseemly. Incongruous. Nothing. Nada.

Here and now.

My skin is no longer tattooed with scars with which I was branded. It has thickened and matured. It’s the leather of an ancient tome that was bestowed secret knowledge of two powerful realms. It’s the bark of a wizened gnarled oak that straddles the old and new worlds. I am steady in my journey and I am sure of my path. Tengo mi voz y mis susurros will tear down brick walls erected by the deplorable. Tengo mi voz y mis gritos will demand for all dreamers to have their dreams realized. Tengo mi voz y anunciaré al mundo que I know who I am and am not. I am too white. I am not dark enough. I am not white enough. Soy descolorida. I am nothing. Soy nada. I am a wetback. Soy una gringa. I am something. Soy todo. I am the longing for Spanish to kiss me with their honeyed lips. Soy la boca que fue moldeada con la fuerza y dureza de inglés. I am Latinx y soy latine. I am mexicana. Soy American. I am both. Soy dos almas encerradas en un cuerpo. I am the amalgamation of the ancient and modern. Soy las tradiciones pasadas por mis papás and I am the resister of their outdated ways. Soy Mexican-American. I am mexicana-americana. I’m me. Soy yo. Me.

[phoebe-delia]

One Day More (Harry Potter Version)

Okay I have written a little HP-themed parody of "One Day More" from Les Miserables. Because it wouldn't leave my mind once I thought of it.

I'm sorry if this doesn't make much sense to read over text, especially the ending since it's technically a bunch of characters singing their parts until they all come together for the last few lines. If you're not familiar with Les Mis I suggest you listen to the song before you try to read the lyrics.

ALSO a few notes here. I have put commas and dashes in order to indicate the rhythm at which certain words are said to fit with the timing/rhythm of the original lyrics, if that makes any sense. Also this IGNORES some of canon. Dumbledore is alive, and I basically just sorta wrote what I wanted without regard for what had actually *happened* on the day before the war.

Also, yes, this takes place (in my AU) the day before the final battle.

Here's a link to the original song.

[Dumbledore:] One day more A day that divination long forebode

The seeds I planted then will now be sowed. The orphaned babe from decades past

Will fin'lly fill his fate at last One day more [Harry:]

My life-long war could be near end

Will—I-see-days, beyond tomorrow? [Dumbledore:] One day more [Ron & Hermione:]

How long we wasted in denial

But what, is left I’ll share entirely

[Draco:] How have months undone my life? [Ron & Hermione:] I regret the pain I’ve caused [Draco:] How’s my enemy my hero? [Ron & Hermione:] All the pride I let consume [Draco:]

Could it be I’ve been so wrong? [Ron & Hermione:] I will fight here by your side [Draco:] Could he ever take my hand? [Remus:]

I’ll avenge them one by one

[Harry:]

All I’ve done has led to now

[Remus:]

But their deaths won’t be in vain

[Harry:]

I will do what’s right and just

[Remus:]

Victory now won’t bring them back

[Harry:]

Riddle’s reign will end with me

[Remus:] But my marauders fight with me! [All:] The time is now The day is here [Dumbledore:] One day more! [Voldemort:] One more day till I’m triumphant

I’ll be on my well-earned throne

They are foolish child fighters

They will soon learn to obey [Dumbledore:] One day more! [Bellatrix & Greyback:] Little tyrant tykes

Screamin’ for their mums

Fun to teach ‘em lessons

About who’s in charge Spook ‘em with a sneer

Hit ‘em with a hex See ‘em runnin, squealin

Like a pen of pigs! [The D.A. Students:]

This is not a war we started

This is not a fight we chose

But if they won’t lend an ear

We will shout our battle cries

This ends with our generation

Evil won’t win on our watch

Stand your ground and raise your wands

[Harry:] My place is here I fight with you! [Dumbledore:] One day more!

[[ALL SUNG AT THE SAME TIME]]

[Ron & Hermione:]

How long we wasted in denial

I swear I’ll never leave your side

And all the time I’ve got I’ll give you [Draco:] Could he ever take my hand? [Voldemort:]

I will finally kill that Potter

Now his luck is all run out

They will see that he’s no hero

They will worship me instead [Dumbledore:] One day more! [Bellatrix & Greyback:] Little tyrant tykes

Screamin’ for their mums

Fun to teach ‘em lessons

About who’s in charge [Voldemort:] One more day till I’m triumphant

I’ll be on my well-earned throne

They are foolish child fighters Tomorrow fills the prophecy [Dumbledore:] Tomorrow is the fated day Tomorrow fills the prophecy [All:] Tomorrow nothing that we’ve known will ever be the same again One more fight One more war One day more!

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"¿NOS EXTRAÑASTE, HERMOSA?"

"DID YOU MISS US, GORGEOUS?"

SOOOOO, I WROTE SOMETHING

This story has been very hard to write because I first wrote it in my native language (Spanish) and then I translated it entirely into English and then translated the parts where Javier speaks in Spanish into this language so that everyone can read it.

It's a fic with Javier Peña and Steve Murphy from Narcos. Let me know if you want a second part 😌☝

I hope you like it!

Sofia was very uneasy.

Ever since Murphy and Peña had gone on that reconnaissance mission to identify Escobar's hitmen, she hadn't been able to move from the armchair next to the door.

She turned on the television, but there was nothing interesting on the news, so she opted to put on some music on the radio.

At that moment, a cumbia started playing through the speaker, making her move her head and feet to the rhythm of the music.

The typical sounds of her country made her forget for a moment that the two most important people in her life were in mortal danger. She got up and went to the kitchen, a little more motivated.

She decided then that she would make some delicious meat and rice arepas for when they returned home. She smiled remembering how both of them had given her a soft kiss on the lips, with the promise that they would see each other soon.

She prayed that it would be so.

She glided through the kitchen to the beat of the music, while taking out of the cupboards everything she needed to cook: oil, meat, and the arepa dough, an essential ingredient for said dish.

Calm enveloped her almost instantly. Cooking had always helped her clear her mind, it made her mind disconnect from everything and everyone, focusing only on the food. She was so focused that she didn't notice that the front door had opened.

Javier and Steve walked to the kitchen, from where they heard her humming the song that was playing on the radio. The Colombian leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms as a smile appeared on his lips.

The American looked at his friend for a moment before looking away at her. They both thought the same thing as soon as they saw her.

She looked so sweet, small and innocently carefree there, cooking in the kitchen of her house… they both felt a strong instinct to protect her.

Anyone who approached her with bad intentions, the two officers would have no qualms about putting a bullet in their head. Neither of them said anything, instead they continued to watch her for a few moments, until she turned around to leave two plates on the counter. At that moment she looked up and saw them standing there, safe and sound. A smile spread across her face as she ran towards them, pulling them towards her.

-Me tenían preocupada –se quejó mirándolos a ambos alternativamente- ¿No les dije que me llamaran en cuánto terminaran? You had me worried - she complained, looking at both of them alternately- Didn't I tell you to call me as soon as you finished?

-Sabes que no podemos hacer eso mi amor You know we can't do that, my love - Javier answered, placing a lock of his hair behind his ear - los narcos podían identificar la llamada y venir a por ti the drug dealers could intercept the call and come for you

-We can't let them do that - added Steve, after understanding what Peña was saying -

-Tenéis razón You're right - she answered with a smile, gesturing towards the chairs around the kitchen table - supuse que estarían hambrientos, así que les preparé unas arepas I figured you'd be hungry, so I made you some arepas - he brought the plates towards them when they sat down along with a couple of forks - díganme qué les parecen tell me what you think

Steve looked at the plate and then at Javier, who quickly translated for him:

-She wants you to tell her what you do think about it - he said, pointing at the arepa -

-I'm sure it's delicious, honey - he answered, giving her a half-smile -

They both took a bite at the same time, and from the expressions on their faces, Sofia didn't even have to ask: they loved it.

-As I thought - said Steve, staring at her - delicious.

-Thanks - he replied, looking at Javier.

He nodded, thus agreeing with his companion's opinion.

-Muy sabrosa, mi vida Very tasty, my love - he replied, smiling half-way - ahora now, it's time for the dessert.

Javier delicately put the plate aside before standing up to where she was. Steve looked between them for a few moments, realizing what Peña was doing.

-¿Nos extrañaste, hermosa? Did you miss us, gorgeus? –the dark-haired man asked, placing his hand on the counter behind her, partially cornering her-

-Sabes que sí You know I did –she murmured, watching him intensely-

Murphy played along with Peña, placing himself on her other side. Now Sofia was cornered by both of them. She suddenly felt overwhelmed by the gazes of the two men, Steve's light blue eyes in contrast to Javier's brown ones.

-Te daremos lo que quieres We will give you what you want –Murphy said in Spanish, his American accent causing some syllables to get stuck in his mouth, which only made Sofia more excited-

She liked it when he made the effort to speak in her language for her.

He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers, before leaning in to kiss her. His lips molded to hers as if they had been destined to be together. He held her face in his hands as the kiss grew deeper and deeper.

Suddenly he grabbed her by the hips to sit her on the worktop.

She felt the cold material on the back of her legs. The dress she was wearing lifted up a little, revealing the soft skin of her knees.

Steve pulled away from her mouth for a moment to watch her, before cracking a smile and swapping places with Javier, who had a dark glint in his eyes.

He rested his hands on her knees, parting them to slip between them. A gasp left her lips, as she felt a tug in her lower abdomen as she felt the hem of her dress rise to her waist.

-No tienes idea de lo linda que te veías con este vestidito mientras cocinabas –susurró- te estuvimos observando ¿Sabías? –ella negó con la cabeza, Javier pasó el índice por debajo de los tirantes, un escalofrío le recorrió el cuerpo entero cuando lo hizo, sus dedos fríos apoyándose contra su piel caliente- muy bonito –murmuró- pero es hora de botarlo ¿Sí o qué? –preguntó, ella asintió con la cabeza incapaz de decir una palabra-

-You have no idea how cute you looked in this little dress while you were cooking,” he whispered. “We were watching you. Did you know?” She shook her head. Javier ran his index finger under the straps, a shiver running through her entire body as he did so, his cold fingers resting against her warm skin. “Very pretty,” he murmured. “But it’s time to throw it away. Yes?” –he asked, she nodded unable to say a word-

-Por favor Javi Please Javi –she sighed moving her hips forward, looking for some kind of friction- te necesito I need you –she confessed looking at him desperately, as well as at Steve, who was watching the scene closely- os necesito a los dos I need you both

The gringo sketched a half-smile accompanied by a hoarse laugh, which made Sofia's heart skip a beat.

-You’ve tortured her enough, amigo (friend) don’t be a dick and do as she says

-¿Viste a qué punto hemos llegado, pues? Did you see how far we’ve come, then? –Peña asked amused- un gringo me está dando órdenes a gringo is giving me orders –he laughed- por una vez las voy a cumplir for once I’m going to follow them

[the-twinky]

hey ciao a tutti, sono "nuovo" su tumblr, nel senso che o usavo circa nel 2019 ma poi ho smesso, e l'ho ripreso ora. aka non mi ricordo nulla quindi è come se fossi nuovo. credo che scriverò in italiano e poi riscrivero tutto in inglese, cosi sono piu comprensibile per tutti. e poi boh, riguardo a cio che postero, credo che raccontero le giornate, i pensieri e mi faro fare domande. ora sono a scuola e non ho tempo di sistemare il profilo e tutto, ma dopo lo rendero piu decente :3

Hey everyone, I'm "new" on tumblr, in the sense that I used about in 2019 but then I stopped, and I took it back now. aka I don't remember anything so it's like I'm new. I think I'll write in Italian and then I'll rewrite everything in English, so I'm more understandable for everyone. and then idk, about what I post, I think I'll tell the days, the thoughts and answer any questions. now I'm at school and I don't have time to fix the profile, but as soon as I get home I see to make it decent and interesting :3