#voltaire high fanfiction

[willcmsv]

Soft Launch - Alain Laubrac x Fem Reader (ENG)

The story that follows is in English for my English Voltaire High's fans, French version is posted there!

Requested by @babydeersblog

Synopsis: You and Alain got to know each other at the beginning of the year, and were involved in a number of group projects, which helped your relationship to evolve over time. However, after being mocked when you confessed your feelings to a boy, you decided to keep them to yourself and no longer show any signs of love. But Alain unfortunately makes you feel something you'd like to find out more about.

Warnings: small changes compared to the series.

Notes: don't hesitate to recommend oneshot ideas - I write in English and French!

Since the beginning of the year, you and Alain have been exchanging words during your class hours. You have the habit of drawing him little drawings while he writes you quotes or jokes, depending on his mood. Since his fight with Joseph a few months ago, you have become Alain's sort of guardian angel, you prevent him from going off the rails and you defend him when you have the opportunity in front of Joseph and his friends.

However, for the past few weeks, Joseph can't help but tease you by pointing out how close you are and assuming that you love each other as if it were a game. But Joseph was like that. Everything was funny to him and everything was not serious.

When you come home on weekends, you have the right to participate to the private interrogation of your brother Jean-Pierre, as if Joseph's bogus questions weren't enough. For Jean-Pierre, you were and will always remain his little sister who he must cherish and protect. He stopped watching you grow up when you were nine.

“Who is Alain?” Jean-Pierre asked the second you set foot inside your house.

"A friend. Next question?" You answered.

Jean-Pierre frowned. For him, there's no way you're dating a boy. Simone had reminded him several times that you were seventeen and old enough to have a boyfriend, but he was stubborn and didn't want to know anything about the subject.

“Apparently no, that’s not what Joseph claims to say.”

"Joseph! Do you really believe him?! He's an idiot and he likes to start rumors about everything that moves. I thought you were more intelligent…" You affirmed, grabbing a glass which you carefully filled with water.

After your exchange with your brother, you headed to your room and discovered a letter left on your bed. It is signed A.L.

You immediately recognized the sender's writing and his sentences, which were always so original and captivating. You couldn't help but smile at each of his letters, at each of his words, of his actions. But although this should make you happy, on the contrary, it made you anxious.

Every night before going to sleep, you thought about what you really wanted. You had two choices presented to you: confess your feelings to him and risk being humiliated like before, or keep them a secret and perhaps lose the love of your life.

The love of your life, maybe that’s a big word.

On Monday morning, after leaving your home, you arrived at school a little early. You especially hoped to see Alain.

“Morning.” A male voice called out to you.

Without even turning around, you could recognize this voice among a hundred, even if it wasn't pleasant for you.

“Joseph, what else do you want from me?”

"What do I want from you? What do you want me instead.”

You raised your eyebrow, unconsciously glaring at Joseph.

"Even though the school doesn't know me by that name yet, I'm excited to introduce myself, Joseph the Cupid." He stooped down, miming a curtsy.

“Joseph the what?!” You giggled at this unpredictable news. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I look like it?”

My smile immediately faded from my face when I realized that indeed, he was completely serious. But Joseph, serious or not, is not someone you can trust.

“Go find another customer.” You responded, turning on your heel.

“Don’t you want to know what your dear Alain thinks of you?” A smirk formed on the blonde's lips.

“Not necessarily, and certainly not thanks to your help.” You declare.

"It's a shame, I know a lot about him and things that might interest you-" Joseph stopped in his sentence when Alain arrived.

“Are you okay Y/n? Joseph…” Alain gave Joseph a confused look. “We can already get ready for class, what do you think?”

You nodded and the two of them walked off into the hallways. Alain leaned against the wall.

“If Joseph bothers you, tell me.”

“It’s Joseph, he’s like that.” You declare.

Alain lowered his gaze, as if he was upset, and upset by what had just happened.

During the first class of the day, you couldn't help but glance at Alain who seemed so focused on the class. You were as focused on him as he was on his lesson that you didn't realize that his gaze was now turned towards you.

His blue eyes were locked on you. He didn’t even move when your gaze met his. Your cheeks suddenly took on a tint of pink while a smirk appeared on Alain's face.

At the end of class, you cross paths with Joseph again who begs you to accompany you home since you live near each other.

Alain, who was walking a few meters further, was able to see your silhouette and that of Joseph walking side by side. He couldn't help but feel jealous. Why did Joseph always have to be with you when he only dreamed of being in his place.

***

The next day, you and Alain had a science assignment to complete, an assignment that required you to work with him for an indefinite period of time. You were already looking forward to being with him, but strangely, you felt pressure, as if this was going to go badly.

You quickly walk towards the science room, seeing Alain who was already sitting on a chair at the back of the room.

"Am I late ?" You asked.

“We would rather say that I am early.” Alain smiles at you before pulling out a chair for you.

The work progressed more quickly than expected, both of them were focused, but took a few poses to discuss things more entertaining and fun than science classes.

“You and Joseph, is there…�� Alain began.

You widened your eyes before answering.

“No, no! He’s just a friend, I’m not interested in him.” You hastened to answer.

Alain glanced at his notebook without saying a word, as if your answer didn't suit him.

His fingers held tightly to his pencil with which he was scribbling in the corner of his notebook.

Your eyes roamed his entire face, from his brown curls to the fine curves of his jaw.

“Are you okay?” You finally asked.

Alain’s eyes fixed on you once again. They moved down to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Although he didn't speak, his gaze revealed so much more.

Your heartbeat accelerated and your lips itched with the desire to kiss him.

His face slowly moved closer to yours, your heart almost skipped a beat.

"Working hard?" A male voice blurted out.

You and Alain turn around with a start before seeing Joseph in the doorway. He smiled playfully at you like he did that on purpose. And you were sure that was the case.

"I need to go, Y/n. We'll meet up again tomorrow." Alain packed his things and gave you a brief smile before leaving, lightly brushing against Joseph.

"You find it funny?!" You declare.

“I thought you weren’t interested?” A smirk appeared on Joseph's lips.

***

In the afternoon, you went to the infirmary to take some medicine to treat your uncontrollable stomach ache. Before you could put on your vest again, the door opened to reveal Alain.

"Hey..."

"I- I didn't think I'd see anyone here at this hour." He affirmed.

His nose was bleeding slightly and you could notice blood on his knuckles.

“Did you fight?” You asked directly.

He didn't answer, his lips pursed and he looked away. Sometimes silence is louder than words.

You wet a cotton ball before gently grabbing his hand to disinfect it.

“It wasn’t me…I didn’t start it.” He whispered.

“It’s too simple to say that every time, Alain.”

He breathed in and out a silent 'yes' and gritted his teeth as you pressed against his wound.

The closeness between the two of you allowed you to hear his heartbeat and feel his gaze on you as you carefully disinfected his wound.

Placing the cotton on the table next to you, you felt Alain's still hand lightly brush against your thigh as you moved.

You bit your lip to hide your concern. Each of his movements, his looks or his words always gave you a feeling that was impossible to describe.

It had become more and more complicated for you to accept your feelings without always imagining the worst. However, you wanted things to work with Alain. You always felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw him smiling at you in the yard, or when he hid letters in your bag. Not to mention the times you could cross his path, like in the infirmary for example.

Everything led you to him and you felt something different, something captivating.

***

The next day, after classes ended, Alain invited you for a walk around town. At first, you walked in silence. Your interactions with him were never this awkward, and the mood was almost heavy right now.

“Sorry about yesterday…”

Alain turned his head, almost surprised that you apologized.

"It's not your fault." He answered briefly.

You bit your lip, you didn't know how to make the mood more joyful or even less morbid.

“Joseph is-” You start before being interrupted by Alain.

“It's still Joseph, Y/n. Except that Joseph takes great pleasure in bothering you, I notice that very well. You need to ignore him, because he's not going to stop so quickly. So make him stop, or I'll take care of it myself."

When he finished speaking, you couldn’t help but slip a short ‘no’ out of your mouth. You didn't want them to lash out like always.

You grab his arm to push him slightly towards you. Either you waited and perhaps risked the situation degenerating or ending differently than expected, or you took your courage in both hands.

Alain looked at you again with a look filled with desire. You didn’t know what exactly that look meant, but as much as you didn’t want to start imagining things, it wasn’t friendly in any way.

“I would like to have you to myself for once… to be able to act without someone cutting me off every time…” Alain affirmed.

You arrive in a small alley. You walked slower and slower, your bodies getting closer together as you went, until your hands brushed against each other several times.

Your two gazes met when you felt the other's hand. Alain walked in front of you and suddenly stopped, which led to you stopping too.

"Y/n, I wish you were more confident, you're pretty and smart. Don't hide or let anyone walk all over you."

Your eyebrows raised when you heard his words. Your cheeks immediately turned red despite the fact that you tried to hide them.

Alain slowly leaned towards you, his hand reaching out towards your arm. He didn't dare put it elsewhere and was mainly waiting for a response from you before doing so. His eyes lowered to your lips again. However, this time he didn't look away. Despite the hesitation, he finally placed his lips on yours and you immediately kissed back. His soft lips pressed against yours and moved in lockstep with yours.

A few seconds later, you both pulled your faces back and looked into each other's eyes before Alain gave you a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t have thought of doing that here… but it’s even better.” He smiled and finally placed a hand on your waist.

You were overcome by emotions and reached his lips again to kiss him. He pressed firmly on your waist at the same time as his lips pressed into yours.

His warm breath blew against your skin, and you felt it slowly speed up.

You felt his lips forming a smile against yours, and you couldn't help but smile back.

Once again, you felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach. His hand tenderly caressing your waist and the movements of your lips against each other only made you feel worse.

However, what you couldn't have known was that on Alain's side, tons of emotions and sensations were also invading his body and making his heart palpitate in rhythm with the beating of yours.

1758 words.

[riaraa]

No Angels by bellarkyy on AO3

A Mixte 1963/Voltaire High fanfiction about Michèle Magnan and Joseph Descamps

Joseph becomes obsessed with Michèle after she is the reason for him losing his eye. But, instead of hating her in the way he expected, he is beyond attracted to her. She won't leave his mind no matter what he does. And as he witnesses her begin her journey of figuring out sexual pleasure, he is happy to insert himself and help her out.

Michèle is drawn to Descamps, has been since the moment she saw him. He is tall and broad and once he has the eyepatch on, his attractiveness becomes exponentially more. With being around so many boys, something about her has changed and she doesn't know how to describe it other than feeling hot all of the time. And, one boy in particular makes her feel like she is burning: Descamps. When he offers to help her discover what true pleasure is despite their past, she can't deny him.

[girlystories]

my other works aside, bittersweet and l'appel du vide, ive been thinking of writing a joseph descamps x reader from mixte 1963... sadly there aren't many people into this show, so i wonder if anyone would like a work about it.

[deadcroisany]

I have written a chapter for a fanfic for Mixte1963/ Voltaire High. Yeah, its for Joseph Descamps I'm a basic bitch. But idk if anyone would be interested in it???? Should i release it?

[villain-connoisseur]

so I caved in and created a Mixte1963/Voltaire High character and story. It's focused on her and Jean-Pierre because he was the first one who caught my eye when it blew up on TikTok haha. I binged the series last night and I wish they didn't cancel it :')))))))

do I dare publish/release it?

[idontlikemonday]

Something I think is funny is that in a lot of fanfictions I read, Descamps is 18/19.

In the show, he is in 10th grade (the first year of high school in France), so he is 15/16.

I don’t know if it’s just a mistake made because of course the actor is older or if the character is aged up to not make it to weird for the people reading it.

[faenos]

MEANT TO BE

a Joseph Descamps Fanfiction

DISCLAIMER: I made some small changes to the plot, so as not to make everything too chaotic. I hope you like it!

CHAPTER ONE: Game of Superiority

Chapter 2 — Long time, no see

Summary: It's Ophelia's first day at school. Having just moved to Saint-Jean-d'Angély, in France, she will not only have to face linguistic difficulties and the presence of boys in her new class due to the addition of mixed classes, but she will also meet an old acquaintance of hers. And it won't be that pleasant.

Word Count: 6,146 words.

Warnings: Pichon being bullied, Joseph being Joseph as usual, some bully scenes, slightly angst.

📍Voltaire High, Saint-Jean-D’Angély, France. September 9th, 1963

It was 7:24 in the morning, and Ophelia was already ready to face her first day of school. A mix of excitement and nervousness churned in her stomach, sparked by a tangle of reasons bouncing around in her mind. First of all, she was in France, a land still foreign to her, heading to an unfamiliar building filled with new faces and stories completely unknown to her. That alone would have been enough to make her uneasy, but there was another detail that made her even more hesitant: the school was unlike any she had attended in England. It wouldn’t be all girls; instead, she would be in a mixed class, sharing lessons with both boys and girls.

At fifteen years old, such a situation felt more than unusual—almost revolutionary. Mixed classes? How strange, even slightly uncomfortable concept, she thought. Her mother, Catherine, with her usual reassuring yet firm tone as the teacher she was, had repeated several times that it was time to embrace this modernity.

Nonetheless her father, ever protective, had unsuccessfully tried to enroll her in a private girls' school, but the enrollment at the Voltaire high had already been completed, and neither parent wanted their daughter traveling to another city every morning.

With a sigh, Ophelia looked at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection as if seeking confirmation that she was truly ready. She had styled her hair into two neat, broad braids—a simple choice that revealed her meticulousness. She had chosen a skirt paired with a modest blouse, aiming to appear polished without drawing too much attention. In England, she had been used to wearing school uniforms—identical for everyone, with their neutral colors and striped blazers and skirts. It was a routine she had always found comforting, a way to avoid thinking about what to wear each day.

In France, however, the system was different. Here, there were no uniforms, and this freedom of choice made her feel slightly uneasy. She feared standing out, feeling too English, too different. Yet at the same time, she was determined to do her best, to face the day as an adventure—a chance to discover who she really was, far from the certainties of home.

Before leaving the house, Ophelia made a quick detour to her brother’s bedroom. Oliver was still sound asleep, curled up under the covers, his face relaxed in that typical childhood slumber. His school wouldn’t start for another week, so for him summer wasn’t over yet. Ophelia leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, a small tradition that had become second nature between them. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her brother, so peaceful and unaware of the turmoil bubbling inside her. Then, with a sigh, she returned to her room to grab the bag she had carefully prepared the night before and headed for the door.

She already knew the way to the school, thanks to Miss Couret—a new face but an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. Shortly after moving to Saint-Jean-d’Angély, Ophelia and her mother had discovered, much to their astonishment, that this woman had been one of Catherine’s old schoolmates. The connection had immediately rekindled, with stories of youth and anecdotes lighting up Catherine’s face with nostalgic smiles.

Miss Couret, who now was a new teacher at Voltaire, had enthusiastically offered to show Ophelia the route to school, accompanying her with a genuine warmth the girl had appreciated. For Catherine, this coincidence was a true blessing. Knowing her daughter would have a familiar face in a completely new environment had been deeply reassuring. She often reminded Ophelia how lucky she was to have a trusted friend like Couret looking out for her at school.

Ophelia, however, wasn’t entirely convinced that this would be enough to put her at ease. Yet, despite her doubts, she forced herself to maintain a steady stride and hold her chin high. This day, for better or worse, would only be the beginning.

She arrived at the gates of Voltaire High School when the clock struck 7:40. The morning air was fresh and crisp, still tinged with the dampness of the night, while the first rays of sunlight brushed against the building’s walls. The gates, just opened, creaked faintly in the wind. Ophelia paused for a moment, her heart pounding, and observed the scene before her. A stream of students poured inside, but there was one detail she couldn’t ignore: everywhere she looked, there were only boys.

Boys, boys, and more boys. It was like finding herself in the middle of a soccer match, with her as the sole outsider. There wasn’t even a hint of another girl—except for herself, of course. The realization of being so out of place stung like a sharp jab, as if every gaze pierced through her. The buzz of conversations almost magically died down as she walked by, leaving behind an oppressive silence that weighed on her shoulders. Everyone stared at her, their eyes filled with curiosity, surprise, or perhaps judgment. To them, she must have seemed like an alien who had landed from another planet.

With a sigh and a surge of determination, she lowered her gaze and pressed on, trying to ignore the sea of eyes fixed on her. But as she moved through the clusters of boys, she noticed someone different—a girl, at last, standing out among all those male faces. She had blonde hair tied into two braids, but not like hers; they were intricately twisted and more stylish. Her outfit gave her a composed air and perhaps a hint of sternness. Ophelia didn’t think twice. She quickened her pace to reach her, trying not to appear too eager, and stopped in front of the bulletin board, pretending to look for her name.

"I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you here!" She said with a smile, putting on her best French accent. The blonde girl turned to her, surprised. Her frown softened, and her face lit up with an equally relieved smile.

"I could say the same thing!" she replied, keeping her smile intact. Just as Ophelia began to feel a small sense of relief, a third figure approached them.

"There are less than twenty of us, right?" The newcomer had a confident air about her and short hair styled so elegantly that Ophelia couldn’t help but envy it. Her mother would never allow her to cut her hair like that, and the idea gave her a pang of frustration.

"I thought I was the only one!" exclaimed the blonde girl, now visibly more at ease.

"I waited for you to go in." the short-haired girl said, stepping forward with her hands clasped behind her back. "My name is Simone."

"Michèle," replied the blonde. Both turned to Ophelia, waiting for her to introduce herself. She hesitated for a moment but then mustered her courage.

"My name is Ophelia." she said, smiling timidly as she tried to pronounce her name clearly.

"Ophelia?" Simone repeated, intrigued. "What a beautiful name!"

"You’re not French, are you?" Michèle asked.

Ophelia shook her head and straightened her posture. "British. I’m here for a year. My dad got… a job offer, so we all moved here."

"Cool!" Michèle exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. She seemed genuinely excited. Perhaps, Ophelia thought, she could find a friend in her. But the thought was quickly followed by a bittersweet smile, a reflection of the homesickness she already felt for her life in England.

"I’m from Algeria." Simone said, breaking the silence.

Ophelia’s face lit up. Another outsider like me, she thought, feeling a sudden kinship. Maybe we could support each other if things got tough.

"Everyone seems to be staring at us…" Simone whispered, glancing furtively around.

"They are." Michèle confirmed with a wry smile.

"Do you think they’ll ever find the courage to talk to us?" Ophelia asked, her eyes scanning the crowd around them.

"Someone’s coming!" Simone announced, suddenly lowering her voice and turning towards the noticeboard. "Act casual."

The three girls exchanged a knowing look and turned in unison as if nothing had happened. Footsteps grew closer until a surprisingly gentle male voice broke the silence.

"Oh no…" the boy muttered, his tone filled with dismay. His words caught the attention of Ophelia and Michèle, who turned to look at him. Standing before them was a boy with kind features, soft eyes, and an almost shy smile. He was nothing like the groups of boys who had been observing the trio from afar, as if analyzing a curious spectacle.

"Is something wrong?" Michèle asked, curious and slightly concerned.

"My homeroom teacher is Bluebeard." he replied, shaking his head with a resigned expression as he looked at the group of girls.

The faint murmur of conversations around them suddenly ceased, as if someone had turned down the volume in the courtyard. Everyone seemed to direct their attention to a single point. Ophelia followed their gazes with a sense of apprehension, turning along with Michèle, Simone, and the boy beside them.

That’s when they saw her: an elegant figure stood out among the crowd, drawing every gaze like a magnet.

She was a blonde girl whose blue dress, simple yet impeccable, enhanced the color of her eyes and the shine of her hair, neatly tied back with a matching headband. Her proud yet reserved demeanor made her seem almost untouchable, as if she had stepped out of an old painting.

"Do you know her?" Michèle whispered to the boy, leaning slightly towards his ear. But he didn’t answer, merely shaking his head. His gaze was fixed on her, completely captivated, just like the rest of the courtyard.

Ophelia watched the scene unfold with a mix of curiosity and admiration. She tried to come up with a compliment in her mind, wrestling with her still-uncertain French. But just as she was about to speak, the bell interrupted her thoughts. The start of lessons forced them all to gather and head toward the school building.

Once gathered just outside the building, the students listened attentively to the solemn words of the Headmaster, Mr. Bellanger. His speech, though formal, carried a reassuring tone—a way to welcome the new students, and especially the girls, into the school community. Then, with efficient organization, the students were divided into their respective classes.

Ophelia felt a mix of relief and joy when she discovered she would be sharing a class with Michèle and Simone. However, her enthusiasm dimmed slightly upon reaching the classroom. All the seats next to her new friends were already taken, forcing her to sit alone at the back of the middle row. I hate sitting in the back, she thought, casting a disheartened glance at the desk before her. Nonetheless, it was the only seat available from which she could clearly see the blackboard.

As she settled in, she noticed a certain buzz of excitement among her classmates. Moments later, the girl in the blue dress entered the room. Her elegant figure once again drew everyone’s attention, but she seemed utterly indifferent to the murmurings. Ophelia followed her with her eyes, observing every movement with growing curiosity.

To her great surprise and relief, the girl walked directly toward the seat next to hers and sat down without a word. I’m not alone, Ophelia thought, mentally repeating those words like a mantra.

“Good morning!” Ophelia greeted her cheerfully, attempting to break the ice in a discreet tone.

The girl, busy neatly arranging her notebooks and books on the desk, did not lift her gaze. Her face remained neutral, devoid of any expression that might suggest an openness to conversation. After a moment of silence, she simply replied, “Hello.”

Her tone was flat and distant, yet Ophelia did not lose hope. She still felt grateful not to be entirely isolated. Every friendship starts somewhere, she told herself, hoping that “hello” could be the first step for something new.

The lesson began, and Ophelia tried hard to focus. Miss Giraud reminded her of her old teacher, Miss Campbell, back at her English school—a thought that brought a wistful smile to her lips. But despite this fleeting resemblance, there was no way to spark a conversation with her desk mate. The girl next to her, completely absorbed in the lesson, seemed as inaccessible as an island surrounded by an invisible barrier.

Ophelia, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel out of place. Back in England, she had always been one of the best in her French class, but in this room, amidst heavy accents and a rapid pace, she could barely grasp half the words. Every sentence uttered by the teachers seemed to wash over her, leaving her increasingly confused.

The chaotic atmosphere created by the boys in her class didn’t help at all. They seemed constantly distracted, ready to break the silence with silly jokes or pointless remarks. None of them gave the impression of being there to learn. This behavior felt alien, almost absurd, only adding to the sense of inadequacy already weighing on her.

An intense feeling of being watched suddenly distracted her. She felt a strange warmth, as if a persistent gaze were burning her skin. Following that primal instinct, she turned to her left, interrupting her train of thought.

A boy was staring at her. His arms were crossed, and his expression was stern yet veiled with an unspoken curiosity. The glasses resting lightly on his nose framed a tired gaze, but one illuminated by an unusual light, almost investigative. Ophelia felt a chill of discomfort mixed with curiosity. She had the impression she had seen him before but couldn’t recall where.

Maybe at the butcher’s? Or in the bookstore? She wondered, trying to make sense of her muddled memories. Yes, that must be it, she convinced herself, though deep down, she remained uncertain.

The same question lingered in the mind of the boy who responded to the roll call as Joseph Descamps, sitting at the parallel desk not far from hers. His attention never wavered from this new and unexpected figure. There was something about her that unsettled and intrigued him at the same time. It wasn’t just the fact that she was a foreigner, nor her unusual name, Ophelia Montgomery, which sounded completely alien to him.

He scrutinized the girl’s face, her wavy brown hair cascading softly over her shoulders, framing a delicate and almost ethereal visage. He felt as though she had stepped out of a story he knew, and it tormented him. Where have I seen her before? He asked himself repeatedly, unable to find an answer.

Even her name was new to him, of course. A British foreigner, arriving in France for reasons unknown to him, for now. The thought amused him, bringing to mind the vacation he had spent that summer in England. What were the odds that he would now find himself with a classmate from there?

“British,” Jean Dupin, his best friend and inseparable desk mate, murmured, lowering his voice. “They’ve followed you here.”

Joseph let out a muffled laugh, shaking his head slightly. “The charm of a French, what can I say.” he replied with a grin, playing along with his friend.

While the exchanges between the two continued, thoughts of Ophelia continued to haunt him. Despite his efforts to distract himself, every time his eyes wandered, they inevitably returned to her, as if she were the only mystery in that room worth solving.

Ophelia, meanwhile, made a conscious decision: to deliberately ignore the matter of the boy who kept staring at her. She could still feel his intense gaze fixed on her, but she refused to let it distract her. She was determined to make the most of her lessons, striving to follow the content with interest. Over time, she managed to find a certain focus, and, surprisingly, after two and a half hours of study, she was able to grasp almost every word spoken by the teacher.

The voice of the girl sitting next to her, however, distracted her from her thoughts. It was a soft sound that caught her by surprise.

"Are you having trouble with the language?" asked the girl beside her, whose name was Annick Sabiani.

Ophelia hesitated for a moment before nodding. "A little." she admitted honestly, not trying to hide her vulnerability.

Annick, who had been distant until then, turned to look at her. For the first time, a smile appeared on her face.

"I can lend you my notes, if you want." The blonde girl offered with an unexpected kindness.

Ophelia’s face lit up, surprised and relieved by the offer. "You’d save my life, yes." she replied quickly, showing all her gratitude.

That reaction seemed to amuse Annick, who smiled again. Then, with a slightly conspiratorial air, she added: "As long as you can help me with English." Her voice was determined, as if sealing an important deal. Ophelia smiled even more, finding the idea quite amusing.

"Of course, I can." She said, extending her hand toward her in a sign of understanding.

Annick looked at her for a moment, hesitant, but eventually shook her hand. That simple but sincere exchange of gestures and words gave Ophelia new hope. Perhaps, she thought, finding a balance in this new world wouldn’t be so impossible.

In Latin class, the difficulties reappeared relentlessly. Professor Douillard spoke at such a speed that his French, mixed with Latin constructions, became incomprehensible to Ophelia. However, it was in this subject that she felt most comfortable; Latin had always been one of her strengths.

Beside her, Annick Sabiani continued to raise her hand energetically, almost climbing onto the desk in an attempt to get the professor's attention. Yet, Douillard seemed stubbornly intent on ignoring her, indeed, systematically ignoring all the girls in the classroom. No matter how accurate or relevant an answer was, if it came from a girl, it was as if it had never been spoken.

On the board, the phrase read: "Romani ovantes ac graturantes Horatium accipiunt et domum deducunt." Now, the professor waited for someone in the class to volunteer to translate it. A low murmur spread across the room, but no one dared to raise their hand, except for Annick, who didn’t give up on her gesture, determined as ever.

"No one knows it?" The professor urged, with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Finally, a hand was raised halfway across the desks. It was Joseph Descamps.

Ophelia, surprised, turned to look at him again, observing him closely. The profile of the boy struck her like a déjà vu, almost as if his face was hiding something crucial, an enigma yet to be solved.

"Yes, sir." Professor Douillard handed him the floor.

"I think she raised her hand." he said with an ironic smile, while his classmates burst into muffled laughter.

Forced by the situation, Professor Douillard finally turned to Annick, who was still holding up her arm like a banner of resistance. He adjusted the collar of his shirt with an irritated air, then conceded.

"The Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house." Annick said, standing up with impeccable composure. Ophelia nodded silently, recognizing the correctness of the translation.

Douillard, taken aback, seemed to choke for a moment before correcting her with a synonym: "The Romans cheer Horatio."

Annick didn’t flinch and remained still, ready to face the test. The professor, perhaps annoyed by her confidence, decided to challenge her further.

"Miss, can you conjugate the verb ovare?"

Ophelia, fascinated by her classmate’s determination, found herself silently conjugating the verb alongside her, immersed in the tension of the moment. It was only then that she noticed a movement beside her: Joseph was scribbling something on a piece of paper and discreetly passing it to the boy sitting behind her.

The scene didn’t escape the keen eye of Douillard.

"Give it to me." He ordered, addressing the recipient of the note.

The boy, confused and reluctant, stood up and handed the note to the teacher. A single glance at its content was enough to provoke his indignation. "Do you think this is funny?" he asked in a cutting tone, trying to identify the culprit.

"It’s not mine." the boy stammered, keeping his eyes down.

"Not yours, right? And who is the author of this masterpiece?" Douillard pressed, scanning the faces of the class.

Ophelia turned to Joseph, who was watching the scene with insolent calm, as if it were a movie, completely immune to the rising tension. He was absentmindedly playing with his pen, with no intention of confessing.

"Your name?" the professor continued, fixing his gaze on the curly-haired boy, who was now visibly uncomfortable.

"I didn’t do anything." he answered in a mortified voice.

"I didn’t do anything," Douillard repeated with sarcasm, his tone growing sharper. "Of course, that's what all guilty people say. So, what’s your name?"

"Laubrac," the boy replied after a moment of hesitation. "My name is Laubrac."

A sudden look of understanding crossed the professor’s face. "You are the boy from foster care?" he asked, pointing at him with contempt.

The class erupted in a series of malicious giggles. Douillard sneered.

"An orphan who wants to graduate? How amusing." Laubrac visibly fidgeted, hurt by the public humiliation. He began nervously twisting the cuffs of his shirt.

"Didn’t anyone teach you discipline in the care system?" the professor continued, striking with a chilling cruelty. "I don’t want bastards in my class, so get out of here."

A tense silence fell over the room, suddenly broken by a female voice: "But he didn’t do anything!"

Ophelia spun around quickly to see Michèle standing up, fists clenched, and cheeks flushed with indignation. The girl’s courage struck Ophelia deeply. No one, she thought, would have dared to intervene in her place.

"Weren’t you taught to raise your hand in the girls' school, Miss Magnan?" Douillard retorted, his voice venomous. "Do you think you have a pass just because you’re the dean's niece?"

Michèle lowered her gaze, visibly embarrassed, as the murmurs from the students turned into suppressed laughter.

"Well, go accompany your new friend to your uncle," Douillard concluded with a dismissive tone. "You’ll stay an hour too."

With hesitant steps, Michèle followed Laubrac out of the room, leaving behind a trail of looks and comments. Ophelia, in silence, reflected on how enlightening that scene had been: not all her classmates were passive spectators, and Michèle’s courage inspired a deep respect in her.

Ophelia turned one last time toward Descamps, looking at him with a mixture of disapproval and disbelief. He was laughing with his friends, as if the scene that had just unfolded was a performance put on for his personal amusement. She pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head slightly. It was clear that this boy embodied everything she found unbearable: arrogance, superficiality, and that blatant indifference to the world around him. She mentally noted the names of the classmates to avoid, and Joseph Descamps had rightfully earned the top spot on the list.

This thought resurfaced with force later, during the lunch break, when he dared to approach her in the cafeteria. It was clear he was trying to get her attention with his usual arrogant attitude. He almost seemed to want to escort her, following her with a certain ostentation as she walked toward the girls' table.

Ophelia, completely indifferent to his presence, kept her pace steady, the sound of her heels rhythmically echoing on the floor. She held her books tightly against her chest, as if they were a shield against the world around her. Every movement radiated composure and determination, a clear message that she had no intention of being bothered by him. His smug smile, that relaxed and almost theatrical way of accompanying her to the table, made her feel like she was part of a game he had already decided to win. She found him unbearable, a perfect example of the superficiality she despised with every fiber of her being.

"You're British, right?" he asked, deliberately emphasizing his French accent. There was a hint of irony in his tone, a clear attempt to make her uncomfortable or get her to talk. His face wore that familiar smug grin, a twist of the lips that seemed to say I know something you don't. But he was just pretending.

Ophelia kept her gaze fixed ahead, her steps steady and rhythmic, echoing in the controlled silence of the cafeteria. She pressed her books against her chest, almost as though they were a shield. She had no intention of engaging in a frivolous exchange with him.

"Yes." She replied, curt and definitive. She didn't say more; the word was there, suspended like a door shut firmly.

Joseph slowed his pace, now walking beside her with an irritating nonchalance.

"London, I suppose? Or am I wrong?" He guessed, pretending to recognize it from her accent, not mentioning that it had been the only city he visited that summer.

The girl turned slightly, giving him an irritated look. Then, she went back to looking straight ahead.

"You're not wrong." Her voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to the words, like a thin blade.

Joseph tilted his head, the smile more pronounced, as if he were enjoying every moment of the conversation.

"Interesting. I was in London this summer. A cultural trip, let's say. I was trying to perfect my English. What do you think?" he asked, changing tone and exaggeratedly flaunting his pronunciation.

Ophelia couldn't help but chuckle, though imperceptibly. Her expression, however, remained composed.

"I think London wasn't as lucky to have you there." The response, subtle and well-aimed, hit the mark.

Joseph raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Touché. But I believe the city will suffer from my absence. I'm pretty sure your fellow countrymen found me... fascinating."

Ophelia suddenly stopped, turning to look at him with an expression that oscillated between surprise and disbelief.

"Fascinating? Really?" she asked, unable to tell if he was being ironic or not.

"You know, I find it strange that London didn’t feel the need to erect a statue in your honor. It must have been an oversight."

He laughed, the sound low and relaxed. "Well, maybe there's still time. You can suggest it next time you're home."

"I’ll do my best." She retorted, resuming her walk and tightening her grip on the books with a bit more energy. The tension between them was palpable, but beneath the facade of barbs and arrogant smiles, there was something undefined that seemed to suggest this wasn't the first time their paths had crossed.

When they reached the table, Joseph stopped, theatrically gesturing for her to go first.

"After you, Miss England." Ophelia shot him a sharp look and ignored him. She then sat down without another word, determined to ignore him for the rest of lunch. But something inside her told her that Joseph Descamps would not disappear so easily from her life.

And indeed, while she listened attentively to Simone’s stories about Algeria, Ophelia heard a small thud. She diverted her gaze from her interlocutor and noticed, with displeasure, Henry Pichon's hand— the boy with kind eyes who had introduced himself with a shy smile at the entrance of the school—completely submerged in Annick's plate. The embarrassment on the boy's face was immediately amplified by the loud laughter of Joseph Descamps and his group of friends, whose raucous voices echoed through the cafeteria, drawing the attention of other students into an irreverent chorus.

Descamps had pushed him, on purpose.

"Sorry, Annick..." Henry stammered, the redness invading his cheeks seemed ready to devour him. He lowered his head, avoiding the mocking gazes surrounding him. "Do you want my plate?" he asked, his tone mortified, revealing how much he wished he could disappear at that moment.

"That idiot should be the one to give it to her." Michèle's sharp comment broke the echo of laughter, plunging the room into a heavy silence. All eyes turned to her, who seemed unfazed by the attention. She nodded toward Descamps, her eyes blazing with indignation.

Joseph, on the other hand, received the provocation with a cold smile. His dark, calculating eyes scanned her from head to toe, as if evaluating his next move. Then, with the composure of someone accustomed to dominating the situation, he straightened up in his chair, allowing an expression of irritating superiority to settle on his face.

"Does the dean's niece have a problem?" he asked with a sneering tone, his voice dripping with an almost theatrical arrogance. The general attention remained focused on him, as though he were the undisputed star of the scene.

"What did you say to your uncle?" he insisted, pretending to be curious. Then, with an obviously intentional exaggeration, he modulated his voice into a high-pitched falsetto to mog her.

"Laubrac is innocent, Descamps is the bad one!" The irony of his words triggered another round of laughter, but the final blow came with his next line: "The niece and the bastard, a new love story."

Ophelia watched the scene with disgust. The dynamics of social power were all too clear: Joseph Descamps held authority based on toxic charisma and the humiliation of others, and the crowd around him happily followed him like a flock of sheep.

Michèle, however, wasn’t intimidated. She raised her head with determination, her gaze fixed on Joseph, a clear sign of defiance.

"Why don't you tell us what you wrote on that note?" she asked, her tone dripping with bravado.

Joseph, with the nonchalance of someone who enjoys teasing others, shrugged. "Nothing," he replied, feigning innocence. "It was a drawing. Let me show you."

With theatrical flair, he grabbed some sauce and poured it over his mashed potatoes, drawing a stylized image of a busty breast. He raised the plate with a pleased look, showing his "masterpiece" to the other onlookers.

"It’s a portrait." he announced, with a triumphant grin that widened as the crowd burst into self-satisfied laughter.

Ophelia was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. There’s a limit to everything, she thought, rolling her eyes with a gesture as natural as it was eloquent. Her expression of disgust didn’t escape Joseph, who noticed it and intensified his smile. The silent challenge exchanged between them lasted an instant but felt eternal.

"Does this remind you of anyone?" Simone, sitting next to Michèle, couldn’t hold back any longer. With unexpected speed, she grabbed a sausage from her plate, raised it with theatrical flair, and snapped it in half with a force that left everyone speechless. Her eyes, locked on Joseph, seemed to promise she’d do the same to him.

The cafeteria froze, enveloped in an eerie silence. For the first time, Joseph didn’t respond.

Ophelia watched with a mix of admiration and disbelief. Maybe not everyone here is a sheep, she reflected, allowing a small smile to slip onto her lips.

Meanwhile, Joseph, with an unreadable expression on his face, shifted his gaze back to Michèle. This time, however, there was something different in his eyes: pure calculation. He was already scheming against her.

And sure enough, he made plans with his friends for revenge against Bellanger’s niece the following day.

On the first day of school, the students were allowed to leave after lunch, an unusual concession from the headmaster, who watched with satisfaction from the window of his office as the students slowly streamed out. The excitement over that small freedom was palpable, and Ophelia blended into the crowd, until she spotted an unexpected scene.

Waiting for her by the family car were her mother and little brother Oliver. The surprise filled her heart with joy, and with a radiant smile, she hurried toward them. Oliver, like a rocket, ran toward his sister, arms wide and a crystal-clear laugh filling her ears.

"Sis!" he exclaimed, hugging her with all the strength of his nine years. Ophelia bent down without hesitation, ignoring the scrapes on her knees from the gravel in the courtyard.

"Olly!" she exclaimed sweetly, stroking his chubby face. "What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be at home with Mom?"

Oliver laughed, as though guarding a little secret. "We came to pick you up from school, can’t you see?" he replied with a serious tone that made her laugh out loud.

However, the magic of the moment was shattered by a voice behind her, a voice she never expected to hear so soon.

"I can’t believe it." Those words, spoken with a tone straddling amusement and disbelief, sank into her ears like an annoying buzz. Ophelia turned, her heart skipping a beat.

Joseph Descamps was there, now standing in front of her, with that cocky grin that seemed like a trademark. His eyes betrayed a flash of amusement, and perhaps something deeper.

"So it was you…" he murmured, staring at her with intensity. Then his gaze moved to Oliver, who was looking at the newcomer with confused curiosity.

"Hey, kid," Joseph bent down toward the little one, ruffling his hair. "How’s the bump?"

Ophelia froze. It took her a few seconds to piece the puzzle together, but when she did, reality hit her like a lightning bolt. It was him. The boy from the park. The one who had hurt her brother and mocked him for no reason.

"You." She said with a cold voice, her gaze turning into an icy blade.

"Well, good morning! Welcome back among us!" Joseph replied, theatrically, with exaggerated surprise. He seemed to fully enjoy the effect he was having on her, like a cat toying with a mouse.

"The world is so small, huh?" he added, tilting his head slightly, the grin widening.

Meanwhile, Oliver was watching the scene with a questioning expression. He didn’t understand a word of the French they were exchanging, but Joseph’s attitude was enough to make him realize he wasn’t exactly a friend. And he remembered him, oh yes, of course he did.

"I can’t believe it." Ophelia muttered, taking a step back. Her protective instinct kicked in immediately, and she pulled Oliver close, wrapping a hand around his arm.

Joseph didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it even more.

"How’s it going, champ? Still playing soccer with the big kids?" he asked, feigning friendliness.

"Enough." Ophelia cut him off, her voice firm, solemn, almost imperious. Her patience had run out. She wasn’t going to let that guy keep playing with them as if they were pawns in a cruel game.

Joseph theatrically recoiled, pretending to be taken aback.

"What a temper!" he exclaimed, laughing under his breath and casually fixing his hair. "You know, I was just trying to be friendly. After all, you’re my new classmate, and I’m always so friendly with my lovely classmates, i just can't help it."

Ophelia didn’t even bother to respond. She knew perfectly well that every word would be bait for more provocations. He had made it clear many times that day that he wasn’t at all what he had just claimed, and she wasn’t going to discuss it right then, especially not in front of her brother.

"He doesn’t speak French." she replied coldly.

Joseph tilted his head, half-interested. "Oh, I see. What a shame." But then he lowered himself again to Oliver’s height and, with a surprisingly genuine smile, said to him in broken English, "You’re in great shape, kid."

Oliver, though skeptical, gave a small smile, not really knowing how to interpret the comment. Joseph stood up again, ruffling his hair once more.

"See you tomorrow, Miss England," he said, adjusting his jacket. His grin back on his lips.

"See you, Champion." He waved to Oliver before turning and walking out of the schoolyard, which was now almost completely empty.

Ophelia stood there, watching him walk away, a whirlwind of emotions battling in her chest: anger, confusion, but also a strange curiosity she couldn’t suppress. Joseph Descamps was irritating, arrogant, and cruel, but there was something about him, something she couldn’t yet decipher. And that bothered her more than any insult.

Author's Nothes:

I'm so happy about how this chapter turned on.

I postponed the incident to the next day of school because i think it would have been so full of events otherwise. I hope you don't mind!

What do you think about the relationship between Joseph and Ophelia so far? we have just laid the foundations, you will be so surprised by the next chapters.

I love them ngl.

Thank you for reading this, leave a comment, a like or repost if you'd like! Thank you, thank you, thank you.

faenos ©

[mastermasterlist1p1]

Stuff i like

Anyone has some good stories without the smut? I don't care about the fandom

Whump :

[tw choking, manhandling, captivity, stockholm syndrome, masochistic whumpee]

Vampire x human whumpee (A centuries old vampire takes in a mortal bloodbag as a gift from his maker. )

some Stockholm

what's best

giving information

Two Weeks of Whump Masterpost

The Scry Masterlist

Clove Masterlist

The Scry

🩸 Kane & Jim Masterlist🩸

Blood catalase

----------------------------------------------------

old bones

The Promise

White moves first pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5

Bruises

----------------------------------------------------

JJK :

defiance masterlist | king!sukuna x servant!reader by @yenayaps

moments in twilight (sukuna basically in love)

Yuuta x reader (basically yuuta is like a yandere but reader is okay with it, literally the best one I've read I LOVE IT)

Haunted (toji x reader)

synopsis in which satoru really needed to start reading the gc more often. solves a lot.

tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞. Pt.2

AURORA BOREALIS GREEN

Bad Habit (hitman!tōji fushiguro x reader | 17k) (this THIS 😻😻😻)

Say yes to heaven (gojo)

Beat of my heart pt.2 (college au - drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader)

Shameless (king to be gojo x f! Servant)

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ! (Gojo)

Taking what's not yours (bully gojo) masterlist pt.1

Jjk fanfics

𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

----------------------------------------------------

Hero, villain and stuff :

Protective ( villain x villain stuff, Supervillain swoops in to help them out of their misery )

Hero x villain (hero has wings and she's basically a monster)

Some romantic hero x villain 😏

Hero x medic

Bodily Responses

"I love you."

Hero got amnesia

Mutually Assured Destruction (DAAMAMMMNNNNN EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ IT)

Hero has amnesia from an injury Villain caused. Guilty, Villain took them in until their memory returns

A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

Kidnapped by the Boss pt.6

First meeting (dork villain and hero)

Sweet dreams : pt.1 pt.10

----------------------------------------------------

Masterlists :

@treasuringizu masterlist

Watercolorfreckles masterlist

Masterlist of oddsconvert (whumpee stuff)

Masterlist of thepenultimatword

Jazz's Master List

Neptunsopening

arealphrooblem masterlist

im-a-wonderling's masterlist

treasuringizu's masterlist

maxrspeaks's masterlist

----------------------------------------------------

Mixte1963 :

Joseph Descamps x Michel pt.2 pt.3 (it's on Ao3 ) A Mixte 1963/Voltaire High fanfiction about Michèle Magnan and Joseph Descamps

Joseph Descamps x reader

I don't know

----------------------------------------------------

BNHA :

Deku × reader (ok so deku is a pro hero famous and stuff but he's lonely and needs a partner, meets reader and decides to date her but reader is a thief. I won't die peacefully unless there's a pt 2)

Katsuki x reader (divorced, it's Christmas)

He hadn't meant to fall in love. (Katsuki x reader)

Shigaraki being touched starved

Love like a ghost (shigaraki x reader)

Yandere Vampire!Shoto x Human!reader

Touya x reader

vitality : pt.1

Accidental Boyfriend (tomura x reader)

----------------------------------------------------

Denji with a Codependent gf!

.

Some stuff I didn't read yet

Hmm1

Hmm2

"creature of myth."

[dragonsruby]

Logic:  You can’t make a good Mozenrath playlist! Most of the info you have on his character is based off of single lines or fan interpretations!

Me:  Haha continuous emo phase go brrrrrrr

Here's the Spotify link if anyone wants to view what I've got or edit it!

Under the line is the list of songs I think go with Mozey's character or general aesthetic and their YouTube lyrics links, along with occasional personal explanations, since I enjoy seeing those in others' playlists. Feel free to dispute or add on! ...Beware. It's long.

Emperor's New Clothes - Panic! At The Disco

When You're Evil - Voltaire

Dark Matter - Les Friction

Arsonist's Lullaby - Hozier (This reminds me of The DVD Fairy's concept for a Mozenrath story in Once Upon A Time. The whole concept of Moze seeing himself as the embodiment of magic serving a dark purpose is fascinating!)

In The Woods Somewhere - Hozier (Another fanfiction, but this song feels so much like Antiphony!)

Castle - Halsey (C'mon, this could practically be his villain song!)

Let Me In - The Unseen Guest ("And sometimes in the night, you answer the phone, and they breathe down the line just to see if you're home...")

Die In A Fire - The Living Tombstone (Yeah, yeah, I know, but you KNOW this is going through his head through 90% of his episodes)

The Devil Within - Digital Daggers

God Syndrome - Madame Macabre ("Don't play God, you're no deity!" "Who, pray tell, would try and stop me?!")

COPYCAT - Billie Eilish

My Way - Chase Holfelder (Oh gosh, I LOVE this interpretation of the song! Mozenrath sees how little time he has left, reflects on what he's accomplished up until now, and decides to go out on a bang! Of course, the original song by Frank Sinatra would go as well!)

Tag, You're It - Melanie Martinez (Side note, did anyone else notice as a kid that Moze kidnapped/imprisoned a major character, usually Aladdin, almost every episode he appeared in? That's what drew me to the show in the first place; I had never seen a male villain imprison a male hero that often. ...Don't read too far into that.)

Milk and Cookies - Melanie Martinez

Outrunning Karma - Alec Benjamin (If I had any art skills, I would make an animatic of Moze with this song SO FAST...)

This is Love - Air Traffic Controller (Trigger warning for lyrical mentions of domestic/mental abuse. The song is heavy. "It's pathetic, I know, a jealous fool who won't let go. If I were sorry for my actions would I ever stoop so low?")

The Wolf - SIAMÉS

Phantom - NateWantsToBattle ("There ain't nothing to debate. Blow this purgatory state. The city lights will drown you out in the exposure.")

Villainous Thing - Shayfer James

Choke - I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME (Yay, murder!)

Necromancin Dancin - Bear Ghost (I need a good excuse to add this one because I love this song. It's about a necromancer and it's PERFECT.)

High Enough - K.Flay

Kamikazee - MISSIO ("I want money and power and champagne and fame. I want money and power. My black heart's to blame!")

Twisted - MISSIO ("I'm uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional, I'm visceral, reloadable, I'm crazy...")

Everybody Gets High - MISSIO ("Everybody gets high, why the hell can't I?")

Wolf In Sheep's Clothing - Set It Off

Kill The Lights - Set It Off

Paranoid Android - Radiohead

Ysma's Song - Jonathan Young (or the original by the late and great Eartha Kitt!)

Believer - Imagine Dragons

Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine - The Killers

Sweet Tooth - Scott Helman ("I hold hands with cosmic entities. I'll take this tube out if I please!")

Burned - Grace VanderWaal

Who Will Save You Now - Les Friction

Everybody Knows - Sigrid

Kicks - Barns Courtney ("Oh, diamond deeds, a minimal variety. I'll play until my fingers bleed. I'll never lack the quality.")

Glitter and Gold - Barns Courtney

Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea - MISSIO

Victorious - Panic! At The Disco

The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy

Colors - Halsey

Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde ("I've got my fingers laced together and I've made a little prison and I'm locking up anyone who ever laid a finger on me. This is the start of how it all ever ends. They used to shout my name, now they whisper it.")

Let’s Kill Tonight - Panic! At The Disco

The Haunting - Set It Off ("Catch a lover, turn an enemy just to watch them burn alive!")

Don’t Mess With Me - temposhark

Little Game - Benny

Animal Impulses - IAMX

Blood - End Credits - My Chemical Romance

Another Way Out - Hollywood Undead

Mama - My Chemical Romance

I’m Only Joking - KONGOS

Brand New Day - Neil Patrick Harris

Slipping - Neil Patrick Harris

Pretty Little Head - Eliza Rickman

I Can’t Decide - Scissor Sisters

Bird Song - Florence + The Machine

Hell to Your Doorstep - Thomas Borchert

Look What You Made Me Do - Jack Leopards & The Dolphin Club (or any singer, really)

you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish

Dead! - My Chemical Romance

The Hearse Song - Rusty Cage

Undead Lullaby - JT Music ("Bliss and pain, health and blight. I feel disparity preparing me to die.")

Dark Souls - Acoustic Mix - JT Music

Body - Mother Mother

HVY MTL DRMR - Des Rocs ("Rage like Eve in the garden. Oh, the sweetest fruit you could bear! When the riptide's dragging you under, are you gonna drown?")

Blood In The Cut - K.Flay

Pumped Up Kicks - Foster The People

Ashes - NateWantsToBattle

Mad Hatter - Melanie Martinez

Turn the Lights Off - Tally Hall (Another one I would love to see or make an animatic of!)

Sirens - Bear Ghost

Rewrite - Darling Thieves

The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning - The Smashing Pumpkins ("And in your darkest hour, I hold secret's flame. We can watch the world devoured in its pain.")

Hellfire - Barns Courtney

Fire - Barns Courtney

Natural - Imagine Dragons

System - Chester Bennington

Oops! ...I Did It Again! - Britney Spears

The Ballad of Mona Lisa - Panic! At The Disco

[onehalfshrimp]

Aufträge; one-shots, Zeichnungen, Skizzen; möchte mich im Schreiben und Zeichnen verbessern

Hallo, ich bin Shrimp und bin jetzt schon länger auf tumblr unterwegs. Ohne irgendwelche content zu posten.

Habe hier oft nur gelesen, mich in Memes und Zeichnungen und Fanfiction gewälzt ohne selber kreativ etwas zu veröffentlichen.

Da ich oft unglaublich Faul bin oder mir Ideen fehlen, werde ich meine Requests öffnen und Aufträge annehmen.

Geschichten, Zeichnen oder Skizzen... Was euch so einfällt.

Meine Kunst ist nicht die beste, aber möchte natürlich besser werden.

Es wird ein paar Regelungen geben, was ich Zeichnen oder Schreiben kann und was halt nicht.

Gemeint, etwas zu Game Of Thrones schreiben kann ich nicht, weil ich die Serie nie geschaut habe.

Zeichnen wiederum ist etwas anderes.

Aber bitte erwartet von mir nicht, dass ich ein riesiges Meisterwerk zeichne, bin noch Anfänger und bei meinen digitalen Werken handelt es sich meist um simple Motive.

(Werde diese Liste immer aktualisiere, sollte mir etwas weiteres einfallen oder eine Änderung eintreten)

one-shots:

für welche Fandoms ich schreiben kann:

-Doctor Who (new Who meant)

-Marvel

•Avengers

•Loki

•Ant-Man

•Guardians of the Galaxy

•Spider-Man

-The Walking Dead (main series)

-Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

-Stranger Things

-Gotham (bin aber erst bei Staffel 3 oder so I believe)

-Supernatural

-Mixte 1963/ Voltaire High (kennt glaube ich kaum jemand)

(-Sherlock)

(-Prison Break)

-American Gods

-Arcane

(es gibt noch mehr Fandoms die ich kenne, mir fällt allerdings gerade nicht so viel ein)

-verschiedene Anime, die mir auf der Stelle aber auch nicht einfallen

•Naruto

•Haikyuu

•Hunter x Hunter

was ich nicht schreiben werde:

-Romantisierung von Missbrauch

-explizite sexuelle Beschreibungen (Smuts I'm looking at you... habe null Erfahrung so etwas zu schreiben)

-sexuelle Umschreibung mit minderjährigen (erklärt sich von alleine)

-kinks

(vieles hiervon bezieht sich auch auf das Zeichnen)

Zeichnen/ Skizzen:

was ich nicht zeichnen werde:

-look above

-komplette Comics

-riesige Wandgemälde

-Tiere, kann sowas null zeichnen, kann es natürlich versuchen aber garantiere nichts

-nsfw (meant porn and such)

-hardcore gore

Was zeichne ich so, damit man sich ein Bild von mir machen kann:

-viele eigene Charaktere

-Naruto ocs

-BNHA ocs

-Figuren aus Filmen, Serien und Büchern die ich mag...

Oof meine Erklärungen sind echt bescheiden....

Habe so etwas noch nie gemacht, also sry im Voraus lmao

[willcmsv]

Soft Launch - Alain Laubrac x Fem Reader (FR)

The story that follows is in French for my French Voltaire High's fans, English version is posted there!

Requested by @babydeersblog

Synopsis: Alain et toi aviez fait connaissance au début de l’année et aviez été associé à plusieurs travaux de groupes, ce qui a permis de faire évoluer votre relation au fur et à mesure. Cependant, après avoir été moqué lorsque tu as avoué des sentiments à un garçon, tu as décidé de les garder pour toi et de ne plus faire transparaître des traces d’amour. Mais Alain te fait malheureusement ressentir quelque chose que tu aimerais découvrir davantage.

Warnings: petits changements dans l'histoire de base.

Notes: n’hésitez pas à me recommander des idées de oneshots — j’écris en anglais et français!

Depuis le début de l’année, Alain et toi vous échangez des mots durant vos heures de cours. Tu as l’habitude de lui faire des petits dessins pendant qu’il t’écrit des citations ou des farces, dépendant de son humeur. Depuis son combat avec Joseph il y a quelques mois, tu es devenue la sorte d’ange gardien d’Alain, tu l’empêches de déraper et tu le défends lorsque tu en as l’occasion devant Joseph et ses amis.

Cependant, depuis ces dernières semaines, Joseph ne peut s’empêcher de vous taquiner en rappelant comment vous êtes proches et en assumant que vous vous aimez comme si cela était un jeu. Mais Joseph était comme ça. Tout était drôle pour lui et tout n’était pas grave.

Lorsque tu rentres à la maison les week-ends, tu as le droit à l'interrogatoire privé de ton frère Jean-Pierre, comme si les questions bidons de Joseph ne suffisaient pas. Pour Jean-Pierre, tu étais et resteras toujours sa petite sœur qu'il doit chérir et protéger. Il a arrêté de te voir grandir à l'âge de neuf ans.

"C'est qui Alain ?" Demanda Jean-Pierre la seconde où tu déposas ton pied à l'intérieur de ta maison.

"Un ami. Question suivante ?" Tu répondis.

Jean-Pierre fronça les sourcils. Pour lui, hors de question que tu sortes avec un garçon. Simone lui avait rappelé plusieurs fois que tu avais dix-sept ans et que tu étais assez grande pour avoir un copain, mais il était têtu et ne voulait rien savoir concernant ce sujet.

"Apparemment non, ce n'est pas ce que Joseph prétend dire."

"Joseph ! Tu le crois vraiment lui ?! C'est un idiot et il aime lancer des rumeurs sur tout ce qui bouge. Je te croyais plus intelligent…" Tu affirmas en attrapant un verre que tu remplis soigneusement d'eau.

Après ton échange avec ton frère, tu te dirigeas vers ta chambre et découvre une lettre déposée sur ton lit. Elle est signée A.L.

Tu as reconnu tout de suite l'écriture de l'expéditeur et ses phrases toujours si originales que captivantes. Tu ne pus t'empêcher de sourire à chacune de ses lettres, à chacun de ses mots, de ses actions. Mais bien que cela devrait te rendre heureuse, au contraire, cela t'angoissait.

Chaque soir avant de dormir, tu réfléchissais à ce que tu voulais vraiment. Tu avais deux choix qui se présentaient à toi : lui avouer tes sentiments et risquer de te faire humilier comme auparavant, ou les garder secrets et peut-être perdre l'amour de ta vie.

L'amour de ta vie, c'est peut-être un grand mot.

Le lundi matin, après avoir quitté ton domicile, tu arrivas au lycée un peu plus tôt. Tu espérais surtout voir Alain.

"Matinale." Une voix masculine t'interpella.

Sans même te retourner, tu pus reconnaitre cette voix entre cents, même si ce n'était pas réjouissant pour toi.

"Joseph, qu'est-ce que tu me veux encore ?"

"Qu'est-ce que je te veux ? Qu'est-ce que tu me veux plutôt."

Tu leva ton sourcil, lançant inconsciemment un regard noir à Joseph.

"Même si le lycée ne me connait pas encore sous ce nom, je suis ravi de me présenter, Joseph le Cupidon." Il se baissa en mimant une révérence.

"Joseph le quoi ?!" Tu pouffas de rire à cette nouvelle imprévisible. "Tu te moques de moi, c'est ça ?"

"Est-ce que j'en ai l'air ?"

Mon sourire s'effaça immédiatement de mon visage lorsque je compris qu'en effet, il était complètement sérieux. Mais Joseph, sérieux ou non, n'est pas quelqu'un de confiance.

"Va te chercher un autre client." Tu répondis en tournant les talons.

"Tu n'as pas envie de savoir ce que ton cher Alain pense de toi ?" Un sourire narquois se forma sur les lèvres du blond.

"Pas forcément, et sûrement pas grâce à ton aide." Tu déclares.

"C’est dommage, je connais beaucoup de choses à son sujet et des choses qui pourraient t’intéresser-" Joseph s’arrêta dans sa phrase lorsque Alain arriva.

"Ça va Y/n ? Joseph…" Alain lança un coup d’œil confus à Joseph. "On peut déjà se préparer à aller en cours, t’en dis quoi ?"

Tu acquiesces et tous les deux partirent jusque dans les couloirs. Alain s’adossa au mur.

"Si Joseph t’embête, dis-le-moi."

"C’est Joseph, il est comme ça." Tu déclares.

Alain baissa son regard, comme s'il était contrarié, et contrarié par ce qui venait de se passer.

Lors du premier cours de la journée, tu ne pouvais t’empêcher de jeter de nombreux coups d’œil à Alain qui paraissait tellement concentré sur le cours. Tu étais aussi concentrée sur lui que lui sur son cours que tu ne te rendais pas compte que son regard était maintenant tourné vers toi.

Ses yeux bleus étaient encrés sur toi. Il ne bougea même pas lorsque ton regard rencontra le sien. Tes joues prirent soudainement une teinte de rose pendant qu’un sourire narquois se dessina sur le visage d’Alain.

À la sortie des cours, tu croises à nouveau la route de Joseph qui te supplia de t’accompagner jusqu’à chez toi puisque vous habitez près l’un de l’autre.

Alain, qui marchait quelques mètres plus loin, a pu apercevoir ta silhouette et celle de Joseph marcher côte à côte. Il ne put s’empêcher de ressentir de la jalousie. Pourquoi Joseph était-il toujours obligé d’être avec toi alors qu’il rêvait seulement d’être à sa place.

***

Le lendemain, Alain et toi aviez un travail de science à terminer, un travail qui t’obligeait à travailler pendant une durée indéfinie avec lui. Tu te réjouissais déjà d’avance de te retrouver avec lui, mais bizarrement, tu ressentais de la pression, comme si cela allait mal se passer.

Tu marches rapidement vers la salle de science en apercevant Alain qui était déjà assis sur une chaise au fond de la salle.

"Je suis en retard ?" Tu demandas.

"On va plutôt dire que je suis en avance." Alain te sourit avant de te tirer une chaise.

Le travail avança plus rapidement que prévu, tous les deux étiez concentrés, mais prenaient quelques poses afin de discuter de choses plus divertissantes et amusantes que les cours de sciences.

"Toi et Joseph, il y a…" Alain commença.

Tu écarquillas les yeux avant de répondre.

"Non, non ! C’est seulement un ami, il ne m’intéresse pas." Tu t’empressas de répondre.

Alain lança un coup d’œil à son cahier sans dire un mot, comme si ta réponse ne lui convenait pas.

Ses doigts tenaient fortement son crayon avec lequel il gribouillait dans le coin de son cahier.

Tes yeux parcouraient tout son visage, de ses boucles brunes jusqu'aux courbes fines de sa mâchoire.

"Ça ne va pas ?" Tu demandas finalement.

Les yeux d’Alain se fixèrent une nouvelle fois sur toi. Ils descendirent jusqu’à tes lèvres avant de remonter à tes yeux. Bien qu’il ne parlait pas, son regard en dévoilait tellement plus.

Tes battements de cœur s’accélèrent et tes lèvres te démangeaient de l’envie de l’embrasser.

Son visage se rapprocha doucement du tien, ton cœur manqua presque un battement.

"Ça bosse dur ?" Une voix masculine lâcha.

Alain et toi vous retournez en un sursaut avant d’apercevoir Joseph dans l’embrasure de la porte. Il te souriait de manière espiègle comme s'il avait fait ça exprès. Et tu étais sûre que c’était le cas.

"Je vais te laisser, Y/n. On se remet en commun demain." Alain remballa ses affaires et te lança un bref sourire avant de s’en aller, frôlant légèrement Joseph.

"Ça t’amuse ?!" Tu déclares.

"J’ai cru que tu n’étais pas intéressée ?" Un sourire narquois apparut sur les lèvres de Joseph.

***

L'après-midi, tu t'étais rendue à l'infirmerie pour prendre des médicaments pour soigner ton mal de ventre irrépressible. Avant que tu puisses à nouveau enfiler ton gilet, la porte s'ouvrit sur Alain.

"Hey..."

"Je- Je ne pensais pas voir quelqu'un ici à cette heure." Il affirma.

Son nez saignait légèrement et tu pouvais remarquer du sang sur ses phalanges.

"Tu t'es battu ?" Tu demandas directement.

Il ne répondit pas, ses lèvres se pincèrent et il détourna le regard. Des fois, le silence est plus fort que les mots.

Tu mouillas un coton avant d'attraper doucement sa main pour la désinfecter.

"C'était pas moi… Je n'ai pas commencé." Il murmura.

"C'est trop simple de dire ça à chaque fois, Alain."

Il inspira et expira un 'oui' silencieux et serra les dents lorsque tu appuyais sur sa plaie.

La proximité entre vous deux te permettait d'entendre les battements de son cœur et de sentir son regard sur toi pendant que tu désinfectais soigneusement sa blessure.

En déposant le coton sur la table à côté de vous, tu sentis la main immobile d'Alain frôler légèrement ta cuisse lorsque tu te déplaças.

Tu mordilles ta lèvre pour dissimuler ta préoccupation. Chacun de ses mouvements, de ses regards ou de ses mots te procurait toujours une sensation qui était impossible à décrire.

Il était devenu de plus en plus compliqué pour toi d'assumer tes sentiments sans toujours imaginer le pire. Cependant, tu voulais que ça marche avec Alain. Tu sentais toujours des papillons dans ton ventre lorsque tu le voyais te sourire dans la cour, ou lorsqu'il dissimulait des lettres dans ton sac. Sans compter les fois où tu pouvais croiser son chemin, comme dans l'infirmerie par exemple.

Tout te menait à lui et tu ressentais quelque chose de différent, quelque chose de captivant.

***

Le lendemain, après la fin des cours, Alain t’avait invité pour faire un tour en ville. Au début, vous marchiez en silence. Tes interactions avec lui n’étaient jamais aussi gênantes, et l’ambiance était presque pesante actuellement.

"Désolée pour hier…"

Alain tourna sa tête, presque étonné que tu t’excuses.

"Ce n’est pas ta faute." Il répondit brièvement.

Tu te mordais les lèvres, tu ne savais pas comment rendre l’ambiance plus joyeuse ou seulement moins morbide.

"Joseph est-" Tu commences avant de te faire interrompre par Alain.

"C’est toujours Joseph, Y/n. Sauf que Joseph prend un malin plaisir à t'embêter, je le remarque très bien. Il faut que tu l'ignores, parce qu'il ne va pas s'arrêter si rapidement. Alors arrange toi pour qu’il arrête, ou je vais m’en occuper moi-même."

Lorsqu’il finit de s’exprimer, tu n'as pu t’empêcher de sortir un court ‘non’ de ta bouche. Tu ne voulais pas qu’ils s’en prennent aux mains comme toujours.

Tu attrapes son bras pour le pousser légèrement vers toi. Soit tu attendais et tu risquais peut-être que la situation dégénère ou se finisse autrement que prévu, soit tu prenais ton courage à deux mains.

Alain te regardait de nouveau avec un regard rempli de désir. Tu ne savais pas ce que ce regard voulait exactement dire, mais bien que tu ne veuilles pas te tourner des films, il n’était en aucun cas amical.

"J’aimerais t’avoir à moi pour une fois… pour pouvoir agir sans que quelqu’un me coupe à chaque fois…" Alain affirma.

Vous arrivez dans une petite ruelle. Vous marchez de plus en plus lentement et vos corps se rapprochaient au fur et à mesure que vous avancez, jusqu'à ce que vos mains se frôlèrent à plusieurs reprises.

Vos deux regards se croisèrent lorsque vous sentez la main de l’autre. Alain s’avança devant toi et s’arrêta soudainement, ce qui mena à ton arrêt à toi aussi.

"Y/n, j'aimerais tellement que tu sois plus confiante, tu es jolie et intelligente. Ne te cache pas et ne te laisse pas marcher dessus par qui que ce soit."

Tes sourcils se levèrent lorsque tu entendis ses mots. Tes joues devinrent immédiatement rouges malgré le fait que tu essayais de les cacher.

Alain se pencha lentement vers toi, sa main se tendait vers ton bras. Il n’osait pas la poser autre part et attendait surtout une réponse de ta part pour le faire. Ses yeux se baissèrent de nouveau vers tes lèvres. Cependant, cette fois-ci, il ne détourna pas le regard. Malgré l’hésitation, il posa enfin ses lèvres sur les tiennes et tu répondis immédiatement au baiser. Ses lèvres douces s’appuyèrent contre les tiennes et bougeaient à la même allure que les tiennes.

Quelques secondes plus tard, vous reculez tous les deux vos visages et vous regardèrent dans les yeux avant qu’Alain t’affiche un sourire doux.

"Je n’aurais pas pensé faire ça ici… mais c’est même mieux." Il sourit et posa enfin une main sur ta taille.

Tu fus prise par les émotions et atteins à nouveau ses lèvres pour l’embrasser. Il appuya fermement sur ta taille en même temps que ses lèvres s’enfoncèrent dans les tiennes.

Sa respiration chaude soufflait contre ta peau et tu la sentais s’accélérer doucement.

Tu sentis ses lèvres former un sourire contre les tiennes et tu ne pus t'empêcher de sourire à ton tour.

De nouveau, tu sentais comme une sensation de flottement dans ton estomac. Sa main qui caressait tendrement ta taille et les mouvements de vos lèvres les unes contre les autres ne faisaient qu'empirer ton cas.

Cependant, ce que tu ne pouvais pas savoir était que du côté d'Alain, des tonnes d'émotions et de sensations envahissaient également son corps et faisait palpiter son cœur en rythme avec les battements du tien.

1758 mots.

[riaraa]

Chapter 3 of my Michèle Magnan/Joseph Descamps story No Angels is live on AO3!

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | my ao3

Now, he really wants to kiss her. To touch her and taste her brazenly. Instead, he clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pocket so he doesn’t crash their mouths together in public.

It’ll all be worth the wait. There is no greater satisfaction than delayed gratification.

“See you next week?” He asks instead.

She nods before spinning away and walking quickly down the street. As she turns the corner and is out of his sight, he feels the urge to go after her—he hates to see her go.

[certifiedceraunophile]

I can see that you're not a native English speaker but your grasp on the language is applaudable how long have you been learning?

Your writing (both tumblr posts and fanfiction) have a classical elegance to it and it's hard for even native speakers to communicate their thoughts as beautifully as you do 💙 Have you taken some special training for it?

Oh my god angel anon this is so sweet, and lmao you're right I'm not a native speaker like at all, tbvvh I struggle a lot w english, always have like I'd score the lowest in it out of all my subjects in high school, ugh my total percentage always took a hit bc of it -_- wont ever stop being salty about it ngl, so no I've had no real training whatsoever beyond like the general compulsory learning in school, and also anybody who chats w me for like more than a minute will immediately know that idgaf about spellings or sentence structure or general coherency in my day to day english, Lmao which reminds me the other day I literally told someone I ~idealize~ I look up to in every way possible when it comes to writing *cough* Jenn @cbk1000 *cough* that “……blah something blah…..I teached...blah blah” while talking and I didnt notice it for like a hot second and Jenn is too sweet (sort of) to point it out but oh my god I was mortified by it when I realized what I had said, but honestly what throws me is that I didn't really notice it was wrong for a long time and like I thought it was a-ok until it hit me that it’s taught.

So in all honesty my english is as good as any non-native speaker who had to learn the language growing up strictly for school purposes.

That being said in my ff writing I just try really really pathetically hard when I write, like the pretension leaps out and tries to reproduce whatever I myself have consumed so far in terms of writing and recycle it as my own crap, I just have this ability (it's not a special thing everyone does it lmao) to subsume what I read and I mostly just take sentences, metaphors and other writerly things sometimes even just the mood/setting of the writing that strike me and rewrite it w an added touch of pretension and it's actually really tangible how much I allow what I read to drastically affect how I write and since I read a weird eclectic mix of really….just a lot of different things that shouldn't really go together lol, my writing style/ narrator voice/ mood setting for my ff also varies a lot, like one day I write Klaus w a satire and critical wit that’s not exactly Voltaire but close, where he’s pretty much just disgusted by everything and decides to mock it all with a straight face and the next day I write him as a lil pining shit with saccharine levels of romanticism in my writing to appeal to his artist-soul mostly bc I sat my ass down and read a poem or two by Keats prior to writing, other days he’s cute and murderous, wears human teeth as jewelry and is just a tiny bit poignant bc I had a date with Poe….so yeah basically what I’m trying to say is that the only "training" I've ever had is what I've already read all these years and what I write is just all the text I've kept w myself and can recollect and re-arrange into my own writing, which is why I would never consider my work to be something that’s completely and originally mine bc I have this personal saying that goes, 

“Everything I see is an image of an image.”

Which to me means a lot of things but in this particular context means that nothing I create belongs to me and only me, it belongs to every writer I’ve read before writing it and will be reminisced by every author who I’ll read after it, that everything I create is just what creators before me have done but have allowed me to take their creations and make it mine before I too pass it on with love and history to the next person.

I also have another quote I feel in every inch of my heart and that’s

"I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women and men that I have loved; all the cities I have visited."

-Jorge Luis Borges

So really this is just my personal...philosophy?? Belief, that I owe my creativity to the world and everything it creates *through* me because I don't own the beauty, I’m only a lens through which it passes through, that my creativity refracts the world's beauty into my life and my creations, and I am glad, blessed to have been the lens through which such beauty passes through.

And that I am more than happy to just be another image who is someone else’s reflection or the very object someone else will reflect, I love how much that connects every human being and every object of beauty, of creation in existence inescapably.

Now I’ve rambled on a lot like a LOT, definitely wayyyyyy more than that simple ask warranted lmao so I’ll shut up and just say you’re the sweetest lovely anon this message made me feel so very flattered and I genuinely think I blushed (and trust me brown girls cannot blush mostly bc the melanin wont let the pink filter through lmao) and I am honoured to know that you thought I took some professional coaching for this because I literally am the most amateur absolutely clueless bullshit your way through everything writer you will find out there and I am ngl proud of that.

(like seriously dude the other day I learnt for the first time how to use a semi colon and I s2g I wanted to dig a hole and bellyflop into it after realizing how many bloody times I’ve used a semi colon wrong like jfc someone kill me before I do it myself it’s mortifying)

eenyways *tackle hugs* thank you for making me smile and for your kind words youre absolutely precious 💖 and I dont deserve the compliments but I am never gonna let them go bc they make my heart warm.

[popscenery]

Florence + The Machine, »Queen of Peace«

by DS

In the last decade, I have spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating my own existence, as a woman, as a person of color, as someone who doesn’t neatly fit into the boxes I was supposed to fit into by virtue of my birth and upbringing and appearance. I have conceptualized myself in a million ways, embodied a thousand cliches, but as one of the Gossip Girl fanfictions I tore through during the nights I couldn’t sleep during my sophomore year of college said, all the cliches make a real girl. I don’t believe in astrology any more than I believe in religion (my relationship with God is rather more ambiguous) but I have always overidentified as a Libra since, like my birthday twin Oscar Wilde before me, I am fixated on balance to the point of running almost solely on anxious death drive. And the most Libra song of them all is my favorite song released in the last decade, Florence + the Machine’s “Queen of Peace” from How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful (2015).

For a period of several months back in 2016, I had this recurring dream. My husband and I were married and everything seemed perfect; we were beautiful and successful and madly in love and after a saga of not being okay in so many ways, I was finally okay. But the image that kept on playing in my mind, over and over like a broken videotape, was of me kneeling at my oldest son’s hospital bed; he was dying, sometimes from a car accident, sometimes from a premature heart attack, sometimes from a drug overdose, but at the end of the story, he always died. In some versions of the dream, he had a baby sister, other times, he was a golden only child but always, he didn’t deserve to die even if his parents deserved to be punished for hurt they wrought upon others and themselves in the years before they were his parents. My husband would be watching my vigil; he would be looking at me not as if he blamed me for our son’s condition but as if I should have warned him in the first place that I bring about death in this manner. I remember being fixated on the vividness of the scene that sometimes still rewinds and replays in my head, the colors of it, the light blue crispness of the hospital room, the red of the shirt I was wearing (it was always red), the dark in my husband’s eyes. Don’t get me wrong, my husband never stops loving me even if he believes I ought to have warned him about who I truly am but nonetheless, nothing would ever be the same again. And while I didn’t know it at the time, I have come to realize that this dream was at least partially caused by my several hundred listens of “Queen of Peace” that year I was 21 to the point the song metaphorically embedded itself in my bones the way no other song has before or since then. 

In the first verse of “Queen of Peace,” Florence Welch sings, “Oh, what is it worth/ When all that's left is hurt?” And you could say that I related. I’ve come to terms with most of the things I did and said when I was hurt but despite being healthier and happier than I’ve ever been, I’m sometimes still completely terrified that I’m going to bring about impenetrable darkness to those I love wherever I go because of the nature of my past, because of my history of violence against myself. I’m afraid that because of my long-standing existential despair, because of not wanting to be alive for a large portion of my life, there is nothing more to me than the pain that I felt, the pain that was often self-inflicted in more ways than one and that is all I can bring to the table. But I have come to realize, there is life after survival and the fear and anger and abject sadness that I have felt for longer than I can remember cannot take that away from me. 

The thing about expressly not wanting to be alive for an entire decade is that you stop planning for a future that you don’t believe you’ll be around for. When I was 17, I was flying home from Boston and on that cross country flight, I distinctly remember thinking, who cares what college I get into because I’m not going to be alive to graduate anyway. I planned out what outfit I wanted to wear at my funeral and contemplated what color I would write my death notes to my loved ones and the weird thing is, I never called them suicide notes even to myself because that seemed far too intentional to me and some part of me was convinced that I was born to die young so I didn’t need to put in the effort to kill myself. But I’m 25 now and that time still hasn’t come and I’ve stopped expecting it. Somewhere along the line, something changed within me, like a candle being snuffed out, and I just simply ceased believing in my long prophesied death and began desperately wanting to do and say and simply be as much I can in my time on this Earth. 

However, and this is embarrassing to write, some part of me hardcore judges myself for wanting to live so badly and doing so much to ensure my own survival, fighting until my knuckles are bleeding and burning what bridges have rotted and crying so much the salt dries out the skin on my cheeks. It feels gauche and pathetic and downright childish to be so doggedly determined to live but I’ve grown to accept that aspect of myself, the silliness of living as Voltaire once called it. The fragments of good, no matter how small, will always endure and I really believe that.

In any case, despite the sorrow inherent in the blood flows through my veins and all the sometimes inarticulable damage that has been done to and by me, I made a decision some years back to defend life complete with all its accumulated anguish, fury, confusion and most of all, its complete mundaneness. In “No Choir” from High As Hope (2019), Florence Welch sang, “And it's hard to write about being happy/ Cause the older I get/ I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject” so I’d like to think she understands, and I hope that you all reading this do as well.

– DS

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #212

UPDATE 212: A Lead

Last time Agatha managed to get quite the lucrative deal in the black market, thanks to her weasel. In the meantime, the Other’s plans are being started in a hurry. Let’s continue.

Who knows how long Agatha has been here, talking about that biological monstrosity, but she’s done and it was quite the task. She dictated everything, and a clank transcribed everything. It does seem like this took like...three piles of paper? Quite a lot of information to have memorized, I suppose being a spark may make that easier. I mean, all the knowledge about MAD SCIENCE has to go somewhere.

Also, there’s a lot of erotic novels starring Agatha.

The raunchier Heterodyne tales, I imagine. Golly, these people sure work fast! It has been like two years since Agatha proved she’s the Heterodyne heiress, and there’s already fourteen books – at the very least! In this one series, since I bet there’s many others. The publishing industry in Girl Genius must be incredibly profitable.

Zeetha wanting the entire collection is kind of...sketchy. I sure know I’d be really weirded out about reading erotic fanfiction of someone I know, much less someone I see everyday. Also, they’d be really weirded out if they knew I’m reading erotic fanfiction of them. The heck, Zeetha.

While Agatha was working on the wasp eater details, this madame gathered information about Professor Zardeliv. All the information proves to be useful, as it gives Agatha the right ideas of how to track him – as long as he’s in Paris. If he’s not here then they’re out of luck.

Elsewhere, Seffie has one of her servants root through Gil’s mail. There’s no way he doesn’t know Seffie does that. Either way, in this mail there’s stuff for Voltaire, all about Agatha. I imagine it’s chock-full of warnings and informing she’s the Other.

Seffie, you liar, there’s steam coming out of that teacup five frames ago. Seems to me she’s really upset about Agatha, for some reason. I’m not sure what may have happened in these few hours for her to get so upset. Part of me is wondering if maybe it is that she has made the wasp eater be the biological equivalent of an open source software.

Gil is coming to Paris! Oh boy, that’s bound to end in a mess if Agatha is still here when he’s around. Voltaire won’t appreciate chaos and havoc, let’s hope that will be enough to deter the Baron in Gil’s head from making a scene.

So apparently the traces Agatha was looking for to find Zardilev are everywhere in Paris. I guess everybody in this city has used the machinery Agatha was so fixated onto – or Zardilev walked all over Paris. As that’s too daring for someone trying to stay hidden and all that, the first is likelier, and completely inconvenient. Oh well. Regardless, there are readings even in some sort of firbidden library that’s its own republic nowadays. They can’t even walk in there, not even Colette can. Can Voltaire?

Hoffman can! From underneath. Hah! Really? Are they going to make a tunnel into the incorruptible republic library? For a forbidden library, it sure lacks security, then. To enter, Hoffman leads them through a storm drain. All this time Hoffman keeps talking about how he infiltrated one of the most secure fastholds of Europa – you know, they may say it’s a secure fasthold, but thanks to all this I sure don’t believe it not even for a second.

There’s a subterranean civilization here underneath Paris, and they’re suspicious and xenophobic, ready to make gloves out of intruders. That’s a rather specific clothing item, honestly. Either way, when they go down further, this civilization doesn’t seem very suspicious or xenophobic, welcoming Hoffman as a hero. Whaaaat did you do here before, Hoffman?

...ah. I see, I see. Is this why directives such as ‘if you’re in another world or civilization, for the love of all that’s sacred: don’t meddle’ exist? I don’t remember where I heard that before, but it sure sounds like Hoffman should have heard it. Then again, it was a third of his grade.

The idea he had to solve tensions and unify them is a political marriage – something I’m a tad surprised they accepted, given how they’re very into making gloves of anyone who isn’t of their own civilization. Also, they need huge gloves.

I think I’ll have to cut the update here, after Agatha is forced to undergo an embarrassing moment thanks to Zeetha reading too many fantasy books and blurting out Agatha is their chosen one when the high priest says he recognized her. Hey, it’s better if she isn’t! Agatha has no time to rule underground civilizations. Either way, I have to stop now.

Next time: two updates

[idontlikemonday]

Can someone write a fic about Jean Dupin ? Please ? I’m begging you