#post-barricades

[kjack89]

A Little Being

For @hope-ur-ok for my 10 year/4k follower giveaway, who requested established canon era E/R who accidentally adopt an orphan.

And, well, kind of.

Canon era, E/R, CW: mentions of canonical character death and injury.

It was a cold and blustery autumn day, heralding what was certain to be an even colder and more blustery winter, but Jeannette had managed to wedge herself between the door of the bakery and the stall outside where the baker sold his wares. This spot gave her not just cover from the wind, but a perfect vantage point to watch the bakery customers so that she could pick out the perfect one.

Most of the other gamins would have just tried to steal a loaf of bread from the baker to sate the pangs of hunger she could feel in her belly, but Jeannette knew better. Stealing a mouthful of bread might stave off the hunger for a few hours; stealing a few coins from an unsuspecting customer could keep her fed for far longer.

Her sharp eyes spotted a stooped man who moved slowly, as if in some pain. He was old to her eyes, but as someone still without all her adult teeth to be able to sell, it was hard to gauge just how old he was. Not that it mattered – the only thing that mattered was if he had coins and if he could catch her after she took them.

She watched as the man accepted the loaf of bread from the baker and slipped his change back into his pocket, and she allowed herself a small smile before pushing herself upright and slipping through the crowd behind the man. 

He was not hard to follow with his unusual gait, and she caught up to him quickly, sidling next to him and reaching up with her small hand, slipping it undetected into his pocket and—

Without warning, the man’s large, warm hand closed around hers, and Jeannette let out a small yelp. “What’s this?” the man said sternly, turning to face her, and Jeannette immediately looked down at her feet.

“Please, sir,” she whimpered with a sniffle. “I didn’t mean any harm, I just—”

“I’d believe you a lot more if I thought those tears were real,” the man interrupted, but he didn’t sound angry. Not like most of the men who caught her.

If anything, he sounded…amused.

Jeannette chanced a glance up at him, keeping her eyes wide as she tried to get her lower lip to wobble convincingly. “But they are real, sir—”

“I’m afraid I’m still sensing a lack of conviction,” the man said easily, running his free hand through his dark curls. He had a kind, homely face, and Jeannette wondered if he might just let her go if she asked.

But it wasn’t worth the risk to try.

Instead, she scowled at him, trying to tug her hand from his grip. “If you don’t unhand me, I’ll scream,” she said fiercely.

The man grinned. “Now that I do believe,” he said. “But how will you explain to the police inspector what your hand was doing in my pocket in the first place?”

“Won’t need to,” she said imperiously. “While he’s talking to you, I’ll stomp on your foot and run off.”

The man looked impressed. “That’s actually not a terrible plan,” he said. “I assume you’ve pulled this little act off before?”

She shrugged. “Once or twice.”

“Of course.” The man shook his head slowly. “You remind me of someone I once knew.” 

He looked as though there was more he wished to say, but before he could, Jeannette spotted a police inspector making his way through the crowd, and her heart dropped. “Please, sir,” she said urgently, tugging her hand away from his again. “Please let me go, I promise I won’t do it again—”

“Is everything alright here?” the police inspector asked the man, and this time, the wobble of Jeannette’s lip was very real as she stared up at him.

The man’s lip curled as he looked coolly at the police inspector. “Perfectly fine,” he said shortly. “I was just having a discussion with my ward here.”

He nodded down at Jeannette. She didn’t know what a ward was, but she knew from his tone that he wasn’t inclined to hand her over to the police, which was more than she could’ve hoped for. So she straightened, trying to school her expression into something that matched the rich young girls she sometimes watched with envy as they trailed after their parents, haughty, bored looks on their faces.

The police inspector did not look convinced. “Your ward, eh?” he said skeptically. “And if I told you your ward looked like the little brat who’s been picking pockets around these parts for months now?”

Jeannette’s heart dropped but the man’s expression didn’t even flicker. “I’d say you had the wrong girl, clearly,” he said impatiently. “And you’re welcome to accompany me as I take her home if that will soothe your conscience.”

He pulled gently on Jeannette’s hand, leading her away from the inspector, but they hadn’t made it even a few steps before the inspector called after them, “I daresay I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Jeannette could tell by the way the man’s expression shifted, just slightly, that he had not expected the police inspector to be so willing. “As you wish,” he said, somewhat stiffly, before glancing down at her. “Shall we?”

Since she had very little choice in the matter, Jeannette nodded silently, and they resumed their walk, assumedly in the direction of the man’s house. For a while, they walked in silence; then, seemingly unable to stop himself, the man began to talk. “And see there?” he said, nodding towards the roof of a nearby building, as if picking up a conversation from earlier. “That’s where it happened.”

Jeannette glanced up at him. “Where what happened?”

He gave her a comically affronted look. “Surely you remember the story I was telling you about your Uncle Enjolras, and how he climbed out on a roof to rescue a cat.”

Despite herself, despite the fact that she could still feel the police inspector’s eyes on them, Jeannette giggled. “No,” she said, and the man gasped, mock-scandalized.

“You really don’t remember?” She shook her head and he let out a heavy sigh. “Very well, that just means I shall have to tell the story from the beginning.”

And so he did, weaving a tale that was almost certainly a complete fabrication, especially as he kept tacking anecdotes on. And the man he referenced, Enjolras, must have been equally fictitious, since to hear Grantaire tell it, he sounded like a combination of a medieval knight and some kind of supernatural being.

But it made the time pass, and far more importantly, it lent a certain credibility to the larger tale both were trying to sell to the inspector. When finally both the story and their walk came to an end as they drew to a halt in front of tidy house, the man turned back to the inspector. “See?” he said, still with the bite of impatience. “Home sweet home.”

The inspector’s expression had soured considerably, but as he had no justification to dispute the man, he merely jerked a nod. “Very well,” he said. “But you’d best keep the girl away from the market. I’d hate to see her mistaken for someone more nefarious.”

The man’s expression darkened. “Yes, and I’m certain that would be a mistake,” he said, putting a heavy hand on Jeannette’s shoulder. “Have a good day, Inspector.”

The inspector touched the brim of his hat before starting back towards the market, the man and Jeannette both staring after him with matching expressions of disdain. Then the man sighed and shook his head. “You’d best go inside for a bit,” he said to her. “Get some food while we wait it out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t double back at least once.”

Jeannette nodded silently, the prospect of food enough to make her forget that she was about to enter the house of a strange man who could easily have ill intentions. Still, she followed Grantaire inside to the kitchen, where they were greeted by the rather enormous backside of a woman, bent over the fireplace. Jeannette stifled a giggle and the woman whirled around, her hand flying to her heart. “Oh, Monsieur Grantaire!” she exclaimed. “You near gave me a heart attack.”

The man, Grantaire, grinned. “It does my ego good to know I can still take your breath away, Madame Hucheloup,” he told her, handing over the loaf of bread he’d purchased with an elegant, mocking leg, and she rolled her eyes, swatting at him with a dishcloth.

“You old flirt,” she scoffed, before she saw Jeannette, her eyes widening. “Didn’t realize the shopping list I sent you to the market with included a young lady.”

“Ah, right,” Grantaire said, as if he had just remembered. “This is…”

He trailed off and Madame Hucheloup clucked her tongue. “Did you not even bother to get the poor girl’s name?”

But Grantaire was looking at empty place set at the table, a strange look on his face. “We were interrupted by the police before we could get to introductions,” he said distractedly, before asking, somewhat sharply, “Where is he?”

Madame Hucheloup sighed and glanced pointedly at the staircase leading upstairs. “Where do you think?”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Right,” he said. “Get the girl something to eat, would you? I shall return momentarily.”

He disappeared up the stairs before she could respond, and Madame Hucheloup just clucked her tongue once more, shaking her head as she grabbed another bowl. “Well, come along,” she said, gesturing at the table. “You look like you’ve been without a proper meal for awhile. Poor lamb.”

She put the bowl in front of Jeannette, who tucked in hungrily. She had no clue what precisely was in the bowl, other than some kind of stew, but it was warm and filling, and that was all that mattered. She was so engrossed in eating that she almost didn’t notice as the voices upstairs grew progressively louder, but even her first warm meal in weeks was not enough to distract her from what sounded like a plate shattering against a wall.

She looked up, startled, but Madame Hucheloup just shook her head, not looking up from her own bowl of stew, and Jeannette had a feeling this was not the first time this – whatever this was – had happened.

Still, Jeannette stayed tense, ready to run if need be. But all too soon, Grantaire returned, a dark look on his face. He said nothing, merely sitting down next to Jeannette and helping himself to his own bowl of stew. Madame Hucheloup cleared her throat. “Is he…?”

“No,” Grantaire said shortly. “He has elected to stay up there and starve himself to death. On his own head be it.”

Madame Hucheloup looked as though she very much wished to say something, but seemed to decide holding her tongue was the more prudent option, and all three finished their meals in silence. Grantaire’s expression was still dark, but his tone was gentle as he turned to Jeannette. “I think a bath is in order for you, if Madame Hucheloup is willing to assist. And then I think to be safe, you should stay here, at least for the night.”

“Here?” Jeannette repeated, fiddling with the hem of her dress. “If this is about the inspector, I can take care of myself—”

“Of that, I have little doubt,” Grantaire interrupted. “But it would ease my conscience, especially as if I had simply let you pick my pocket, neither of us would be here.” He looked over at Madame Hucheloup, whose lips were pursed, and sighed as if sensing an impending scolding. “Yes, Madame?”

“You know what,” she said.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “We’ve plenty of beds in this place, if that’s your concern,” he said dismissively.

“It’s not.”

Again Grantaire sighed. “Then what—”

“Are you going to ask the child that you’ve just insisted stay here for her name?” 

Realization flashed across Grantaire’s face, and he turned back to Jeannette, slightly shamefaced. “I suppose we are long past when proper introductions were do,” he said, holding his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Grantaire. And you are?”

“My name’s Jeannette,” she told him, and he shook her hand.

“It is very nice to meet you, Jeannette. This is Madame Hucheloup. She is our housekeeper, cook, and all-around heroine.” Madame Hucheloup gave her a warm smile. “Of course, I daresay picking up after us here is an easier task than picking up after us in the tavern, but—”

“Yes, but in the tavern, you went home at the end of the day,” Madame Hucheloup interrupted good-naturedly.

Grantaire managed a smile. “Fair enough,” he said, glancing at the stairs. “If you’ll be so kind as to attend to Jeannette—”

“Wait,” Jeannette interrupted. “Who’s he?”

Madame Hucheloup frowned at her. “Who’s who, my dear?”

Jeannette nodded at the stairs. “Whoever threw the plate, whoever won’t down to eat.”

“Oh.” Madame Hucheloup glanced at Grantaire. “Well, that’s the other gentleman who lives here. Monsieur Enjolras.”

— — — — —

It was barely midday by the time Jeannette finished her bath, but she was exhausted from the morning’s excitement – or perhaps her body, realizing she was in a safe place, was eager to take advantage of it. In any case, Madame Hucheloup seemed content to send her off to bed, instructing her to take the stairs up past the first floor and to the second floor, where she could sleep in the first bedroom on the left.

She didn’t think to question what was on the first floor and in any case learned quickly enough as she heard Grantaire’s voice from down the hall. Jeannette hesitated but decided her curiosity was greater than her exhaustion and so crept down the hallway to the open doorway at the end.

It was a bedroom, the biggest bedroom she had ever seen, and she crouched in the doorway, her eyes wide as she looked around the room, only noticing the bed in the middle when Grantaire again spoke. “Please,” he said quietly. “Just a bite. It’s particularly good today – Hucheloup’s put some kind of herbs in it.”

“I told you, I am not hungry,” a second voice said, this one thin and a little weak, and Jeannette had to squint to see the pale figure propped up on pillows in the bed. This had to be Enjolras, though he looked nothing like she expected given the stories Grantaire had told of him. “Besides, you haven’t explained the girl.”

Jeannette shrank back slightly, realizing he must mean her. Grantaire sighed, shifting in his position perched on the edge of the bed. “I told you all that there is to tell,” he said. “It seems more prudent to keep her here for the time being until we are certain the danger from the police has passed.”

“What of the danger to us from the police?” Enjolras asked. “Or do I need remind you that the assumption of our death would not last long against police scrutiny?”

“Please,” Grantaire scoffed. “I doubt highly the police are intelligent to put the two together. Besides, the inspector seemed more interested in the girl than me.”

Enjolras made a small noise of disagreement, but did not push the issue, instead saying, “And yet, need I remind you, a child is not a stray cat that you can just bring home.”

“You only say that because you have not met her,” Grantaire told him, reaching out to brush a curl away from Enjolras’s face. “Besides, you’d like her. She reminds me of Gavroche.”

Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say, as Enjolras turned away, rolling onto his side so that his back was to Grantaire. Grantaire sighed, rubbing Enjolras’s arm, though he seemed unsurprised when Enjolras jerked away from his touch. “Dwelling on those we lost does no good to any of them,” he said softly, so softly Jeannette almost didn’t hear him.

But Enjolras said nothing, and after a moment, Grantaire sighed again. “If you are so committed to not speaking to me, at least put your mouth to some kind of good use and eat something.” Still Enjolras was silent, and Grantaire swallowed. “Please, you must eat, my love.”

“Am I?” Enjolras asked stiffly.

“Are you what?”

“Still your love?” Enjolras’s tone was sharp, and bitter. “Even though I am but a shadow of the man I once was?”

Grantaire reached for his hand, taking it between both of his own. “That you may feel a shadow of what you were after all you have been through proves only that you are still the man I fell in love with,” he said. “Besides, whatever you are now and whoever you become in the future, you are the love of my life. And that will not change.”

He leaned in to kiss Enjolras’s forehead and Jeannette decided she had heard enough, creeping back down the hallway and taking the stairs up one more flight to her room, trying not to think about what she had just overheard.

That task was made far more difficult when, not even five minutes later, Grantaire poked his head into her room. “I thought you might be asleep already,” he said, and she shook her head, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Not yet.”

Grantaire nodded. “Well, if you need anything, just give a shout,” he said, turning to go.

“Wait,” she said, and he did, glancing back at her. “What happened to Monsieur Enjolras?”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “What do you mean?”

Jeannette worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, is he hurt? Is something wrong with him?”

Grantaire sighed, crossing over to sit down on the edge of her bed. “His body is not hurt,” he told her. “He was hurt, a while ago, but the doctors say that he is healed now. But his spirit—” He broke off, shaking his head. “His spirit remains injured. And that is a far more difficult injury to heal.”

Jeannette nodded tracing a finger along the coverlet. “How was he hurt?”

“There was a battle,” Grantaire told her. “When you very young, there was an attempt to stop the king because…” He paused as if searching for the right words. “Because he’s not a very good man,” he finished, and she wondered what he had really wanted to say. “During that battle, both Enjolras and I were injured, and left for dead. And it’s honestly a miracle for both of us to still be living.” His expression twisted. “If you wanted to call what Enjolras was doing living, at least.”

He shook his head and patted her foot through the covers. “In any case, it is nothing about which you need to be concerned.”

Jeannette nodded again, her eyelids starting to droop. “Thank you for letting me stay,” she said tiredly. “I promise I will be gone tomorrow.”

Grantaire hesitated. “Let us save that conversation for tomorrow, then,” he said, and she nodded again, already falling asleep.

— — — — —

But in the morning, Grantaire made no mention of her leaving, instead asking her over breakfast if she had been given any schooling, and, upon learning she had not, offering to teach her numbers and letters. Jeannette was surprised by the offer, but thought it best not to say anything, knowing that this time was bound to end eventually, and she’d be better off taking every advantage she could.

Especially if she could swipe something valuable on the way out.

But for as grand as the house was, there seemed to be very few valuables, at least in plain sight, as she spent all morning with Grantaire in a room that he called a study, which was full of books which were valuable for little more than kindling. 

“How do you and Monsieur Enjolras make money?” she asked partway through the morning, and Grantaire glanced over at her, amused.

“If he hears you calling him Monsieur Enjolras, he’ll take offense,” he said. “And that is, in general, an impolite question to ask.”

“Is it?” she asked, puzzled. It seemed the most natural question in the world to her, as her entire world revolved around what she was going to do ensure her next meal.

As if sensing her confusion, Grantaire patted her hand. “Only amongst polite company, and I’ve rarely been accused of being that,” he told her. “In truth, neither Enjolras nor I have an occupation, Enjolras for obvious reasons, and myself because it is better for all involved to remain under the assumption that I did not live after the battle I told you about.”

Jeannette nodded slowly, understanding something of subterfuge. “But Enjolras had plenty of money to his name before his supposed death,” Grantaire continued, “And we live off of that.” He brightened as Madame Hucheloup appeared at the study door, a tea tray in hand. “And Madame Hucheloup helps us because she is a saint.”

“A well-compensated saint,” she told them dryly, setting the tray down on the desk.

“But a saint nonetheless,” Grantaire added.

It became something of a routine, Jeannette spending most of her time with Grantaire in the study, peppering questions in with the lessons he did his best to teach. On occasion, Grantaire would disappear, either up to Enjolras’s room or else out to God only knew where, leaving Jeannette with Madame Hucheloup in the kitchen when he did leave.

Sometimes he would return with a new dress for Jeannette, or food for Madame Hucheloup, or even just a pamphlet that he proclaimed would be the thing to rouse Enjolras from his bed. It was after that failed attempt that he left for the longest stretch of time, and returned late at night reeking so strongly of alcohol that Jeannette could smell it wafting up to her bedroom.

She knew she should be using the time when he was gone to make her preparations, but as their time together marched onward, Jeannette found she didn’t want to. She liked Grantaire, and Madame Hucheloup, and she wondered if she might instead ask to stay.

Certainly Grantaire showed no indication of asking her to leave, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, Jeannette was able to relax, just slightly.

Or perhaps, slightly too much.

One morning, Grantaire had already left before Jeannette was roused from sleep, and Madame Hucheloup seemed irritated as she finished her porridge. “Would you be a dear and mind the soup?” she asked, nodding to the pot she’d put on the stove. “Just stir it on occasion while I run out and pick up some things Monsieur Grantaire was meant to?”

“Of course,” Jeannette said, eager to help.

But only a few minutes after Madame Hucheloup had left, the door banged open and Jeannette yelped as the police inspector who had followed her and Grantaire burst in, a terrible look on his face. The spoon in her hand clattered the floor as she made to run to the stairs, but he blocked her way, grabbing her arm with a rough hand. “Didn’t think you could hide in here forever, did you?” he asked savagely. “You might have these men fooled, but I’ve been on you for a while now. Or did you think I wouldn’t hear about how you stole from a police lieutenant a month past?”

“Please,” Jeannette cried, trying in vain to yank her wrist from his grip. “Please, I didn’t—”

“Shut it, you,” he snapped, pulling her forward so suddenly that she stumbled and almost fell. “You’re nothing but a petty little thief, and you’ll answer for your crimes.”

He started to pull her to the door, and Jeannette redoubled her efforts to twist out of his grasp, babbling all sorts of tearful pleas as she did, all to no avail, when without warning, a voice thundered, “What do you think you are doing?”

Both Jeannette and the inspector looked over to find Enjolras standing on the stairs. She expected him to be stooped like Grantaire, and weak from being in bed, but he stood as straight as a soldier, looking flatly at the inspector, an unmistakable air of nobility around him. The inspector straightened as well, not loosening his grip. “I do not know what lies she’s told you, Monsieur, but I assure you, this girl is—”

“This girl is my niece,” Enjolras told him imperiously, “and a member of one of the most respected families in Paris. Does the police now make trespass on private property to terrify little girls part of their official policy?”

The inspector flushed, just slightly. “She is a thief.”

Enjolras lifted his chin, just slightly. “Then I am certain you have proof to offer,” he said coolly. “Or shall I send for my solicitor, that you might have this conversation with him instead?”

That was evidently the magic thing to say, as the inspector released Jeannette, who didn’t hesitate, running straight to Enjolras. To her surprise, he gathered her to him, tucking her against his side. The inspector glared at both of them “I apologize for the error,” he said stiffly.

“I would imagine so,” Enjolras said, his lip curling. “And Inspector, should this error happen a second time, I can assure you that I will not extend this courtesy again, and I can only imagine your superiors would be very interested in hearing of such an error.”

Something of the dog that had been hit flitted across the inspector’s expression, and he gave them a wordless nod before finally taking his leave. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Enjolras sagged, leaning heavily against the wall. Jeannette grabbed his arm, helping him sit down on the stairs. Enjolras took a moment before finally saying, a little hoarsely, “My apologies.”

Jeannette stared at him. “For what?”

He just shook his head. “That I was not able to make it down sooner.”

She shook her own head. “That does not matter,” she assured him fiercely. “You were amazing, the things you said—”

In truth, it was the first time she had recognized Enjolras as Grantaire spoke of him, and as if sensing her thought, Enjolras managed a wan smile. “Truth be told, I did not know I still had it in me,” he confessed. “Perhaps Grantaire is right, not that I should ever tell him as such.” He glanced at her. “And are you alright?” She nodded and he squeezed her hand. “You may be truthful with me.”

She hesitated, remembering the portion of his conversation with Grantaire that she had overheard. “Will you make me leave?” she blurted. “Because of all the trouble?”

Enjolras’s expression softened. “Don’t be absurd,” he said, a little gruffly. “Grantaire and I have brought far more trouble on ourselves than that. And besides he would murder me in my bed if I even considered sending you away. He cares for you very much. And…”

He trailed off and she looked up at him. “And?” she prompted.

“And while perhaps it is too narrow a focus, it does feel nice, I suppose, to again be even a small part of the fight against injustice.” Jeannette wanted to ask what he meant but he did not let her, instead saying, “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” she said immediately.

He studied her for a moment. “You’ve been spending far too much time with Grantaire,” he said, slightly sourly, before gripping her arm once more. “Help me to the table, and then tell me of the mood on the streets. It has been far too long since my ear was to the ground on popular sentiment.”

That was how Grantaire found them when he arrived home a half hour later, both sitting at the table as Enjolras almost absentmindedly ate bits of bread, seemingly to give his hands something to do as he listened to Jeannette tell him about her time on the streets.

Grantaire stopped in his tracks when he saw them, his entire face lighting up. “You’re here,” he breathed, and Enjolras half-smiled.

“I’m here, he said, his voice low. He nodded at Jeannette. “We had an unfortunate run-in with your inspector friend, but I do believe that matter to be finally concluded.”

“Oh?” Grantaire said sharply, an edge of concern in his voice as he sat down next to Enjolras, reaching out automatically to take his hand. “That is a story I think I should like to hear.”

“Of course,” Enjolras told him. “But first, I have made my assurances, but will you kindly tell Jeannette that she is welcome to stay here as long as she wishes?”

Grantaire looked over at her, beaming, and she was not surprised to see that his eyes were wet with tears. He reached his other hand across the table to her, and she took it with both of her own. “You have done more to heal my heart than I knew was possible,” he told her, his voice low. “Your home shall be here for as long as you will have us.”

It was more than Jeannette had ever allowed herself to dream of, and she couldn’t stop her own smile.“I have never had a home before,” she told them. “But I think I shall be happy here.”

Grantaire lifted Enjolras’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I think we all will be.”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Except for Madame Hucheloup when she learns you let her soup burn.”

“Oh no!” Jeannette cried, jumping out of her seat, but both Enjolras and Grantaire just laughed, lightly at first but then full-on belly laughter, their shoulders shaking as they held each other, and after only a moment, Jeannette joined them, all three laughing themselves silly the way that only family could.

[courfeyrec]

it's a main character to ME

[sachart]

Oh dear god it's Barricade Day again

[driftsart]

Does barricade exist in your au?

[lazarusemma]

happy barricade day

[kiisuuumii]

[icantdothistodaybruh]

I like to think how at some point Ciel relearns to embrace physical affection rather than run away from it, especially with Sebastian, to the point of it becoming his second nature.

An encouraging hand casually lying on his shoulder or back. A brush of lips to his temple while serving him tea. A grounding weight of Sebastian's body, ordered to sit idly on his master's lap much to ever busy butler's slight annoyance.

Basically Ciel going from "is it really necessary for him to touch me all the time??" to "it's nice, it calms me down, I shall probably just order him to do it from now on."

[zaynontour]

THE BARRICADE PICTURES

[notebookmusical]

here's to them, and here's to you.

[permit-it]

Javert after his deception is found out:

[bernard-the-rabbit]

you're obsessed with being a martyr, with dying like a fucking saint and you are forgetting that there are real people who will be fighting behind you!

[skelavender]

a headcanon that is very important to me personally is that mulder and scully’s strides start to change as they settle into their partnership. like even when they’re not around each other. scully’s get longer and mulder’s get shorter so that they can walk side by side easier. maybe in the beginning, mulder is rushing around and scully is always trying to keep up, but he learns to slow down so he can talk and listen while they walk. eventually, they unconsciously adjust and meet in the middle. it’s just one of the things that irons itself out as they grow and change around each other, and their relationship as partners and friends starts to take shape :)

[courfeyrec]

things we have:

guns

people

the spirit

some cool outfits

these horses we stole from the funeral

things we need:

as much furniture as you can throw down

[aeolianblues]

To the heavens.

Grian Chatten, Fontaines D.C. | Romance North American tour 2024

[secretmellowblog]

Woah some Les Mis genius just made a tiktok diving into the canonical parallels between Jean Valjean and St Nicholas:

Or watch on tiktok to boost this excellent person in the algorithm! They are clearly trying very hard to produce quality analysis about extremely important Les mis things like “Jean Valjean breaking into people’s houses to secretly give them money,” but do not have a lot of followers yet! :

[driftsart]

Can we give ideas about why Prowl hates Barricade or is that lore already decided?

Sure, go ahead! I'd love to hear ideas! :D