#The Lovers of Montparnasse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshologies · 10 months

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⌗ nct dream as romance tropes

syn. exactly what it says on the tin. the dreamies as different romance tropes, some common, some not.

pairing. nct dream/gn reader.

gen, tropes, & rating. romance. college, missed connections, faking dating, strangers to lovers, matchmaking, friends to lovers, one sided pining. 16+.

warnings. (potentially) underage drinking, profanity.

word count. 3.6k (approx. 450-550 words per member).

mark lee is the boy you spend spring break with. you’d managed to get on a study abroad trip to europe for the vacation, but as the only person from your friend group going, you’d worried about spending the week and a half alone. thank god, then, that mark is also the only one from his friend group going.

you connect during the bi-weekly class sessions leading up to your departure, sitting alone near the back of the small lecture hall. you chat before the faculty leader starts speaking and you giggle amongst yourselves when you have to step into the hallway to practice getting on and off the subway, your arms linked so you don’t get “left behind.” when you both decide to take the charter bus to the airport, mark is the one who packs his suitcase early and heads to your apartment to help you stay awake and do last minute cleaning before he drives you both to the meeting point. you sleep on his shoulder the entire bus ride, in the seats at your gate, you even manage to have seats next to each other on your overnight flight and you fall asleep watching a movie together and sharing your blanket.

spring break is full of the two of you wandering rome together, sharing cups piled high with gelato at the piazza navona, and navigating the parisian subway from the city center to the catacombs. he takes pictures of you on his film camera in st. peter’s basilica; you sneak a selfie together with the ceiling of the sistine chapel, your faces cut off halfway. you climb the bell tower of the duomo in florence, laughing breathlessly when you make it to the top, and you walk the gardens of the palace of versailles together, shoulders brushing as you take in the scenery and chill air of a mid-march morning. on your final night, you watch the eiffel tower glitter from montparnasse and you swear mark looks like he wants to kiss you; you want him to.

but then the trip is over and you go back home. you share seats on the charter bus again and you fall asleep on his shoulder again. he takes you back to your apartment, walks you to your door all bleary eyed and sleepy. you’re worried that this is the last time you’ll see him as you stand at your window and watch him get into his car and drive off. looking at the picture a stranger took of you and mark on the ponte vecchio, his arm around your shoulders and his gaze fixed on you rather than the camera, you realize you cannot let this be the end.

huang renjun is a missed connection. he’s the boy you see all over town, but never work up the courage to introduce yourself to. he’s tall and lanky, always dressed so nice and looking so out of place among everyone else. he’s got soft features, all gentle edges and round, sad eyes. you always find yourself wanting to wrap him up in your arms, fantasizing what his body slotted against yours would feel like. is he warm, soft as he looks?

you see him at your favorite cafe, keeping to himself while he studies and drinks his coffee and picks at his french toast crepe. you spot him on campus, backpack slung over his shoulder on his way to class or laying out on the greens and reading a book. some days, you’re lucky enough to catch the same subway car as him, earbuds in and his eyes trained on the horizon through the window. sometimes, you even end up in the same aisle as him at the convenience store down the street from your apartment. you stand opposite each other, considering your different choices of ramen.

still, with all your instances of seeing him, you’ve never scrounged together the courage you feel you need to talk to him for the first time. even if you could, one glimpse of that lopsided grin of his would have you crumbling anyways, a weakness before you even get the chance to ask for his name. so you resign yourself to only admire him from afar and he, completely unknown to him, will forever be known as the “cute cafe boy” amongst your friend group.

you spend months like that, cherishing the glimpses you get of him. because you often exist in the same spaces with the same schedule, like the cafe on tuesday afternoons at eleven in the morning, you decide to give the barista money one day, tell them that you want to pay for his coffee when he gets here, describe him as the tall, lanky boy with the big brown eyes and gentle voice; they always know who you’re talking about. you tell them to not tell him who paid for it, just that a stranger wanted to pay forward some kindness.

when he arrives and orders, the barista relays the message and they swear up and down the wall it was a stranger, but the glance they cast over his left shoulder is telling. when he turns away, his eyes land on you, too wrapped up in your laptop to notice. but he’s too shy to say anything and so when he gets home, he writes a missed connection posting on your community’s page, the same one your friend frequents to look for free or cheap furniture.

you were at the greenhouse cafe today (tuesday) around 11:15 in the morning. i went there to study and get coffee, but the barista said someone had paid for it already. you wanted to stay a stranger, but if you’re the person i think you are, i want to thank you properly. ramen at the convenience store by our apartment buildings?

maybe your friend oughta pass this on to you.

lee jeno is a friend of a friend, who your friend manages to convince to fake date you for a couple of group outings. she drags you to so many big group events, like drinks at the favorite bar or clubbing or even group movie nights at apartments. out of a group of ten, you and jeno are the only two single ones. it can be annoying being the only singles, especially when you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t have an issue with not seeing anyone right now; it’ll happen when it happens, you find yourself saying at least once a week, it’s just not a priority right now and i don’t mind it.

jeno faces the same line of irritating questioning, so when you’re out with your friends beom gyu and haechan (the instigators of the group), haechan suggests a scheme to get the rest of your friends off your backs. “just pretend you’re dating for a little while. act a little coupley at our hangouts and then, like… just say that you decided your lives are going in different directions, so you’ve broken up, but it’s amicable and there’s no hard feelings! simple as that.”

beomgyu cosigns almost immediately, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and it kind of scares you. the number of times this duo has instigated things, harmless as they may be, is something to be worried about. you’re a little skeptical, but when you look over at jeno, he’s looking back at you. he gives you a nonchalant shrug and an easy it would get them off our backs for a while. it’s not like we have to actually go out on dates or anything.

it’d just be acting, sure, and you’ve never particularly been into jeno, but his last sentence stings a little, somewhere deep and dark within you. regardless, you ignore the subtle hurt and you nod, mimicking his shrug. sure, why not?

the next time the whole group is together, you and jeno sit together, shoulder to shoulder. almost immediately, yeji picks up on it and nearly squeals. what is this? are you dating? when jeno confirms, the whole table starts shouting, including beomgyu and haechan, the masterminds behind this whole thing (beomgyu tells you later that it was to make it look like they were surprised too). she asks when it happened, why, how, congratulates you both on your new relationship, says it’ll be great for you guys to not be ninth and tenth wheeling on hangouts anymore.

you both go on like this for a while, showing up to the bar or the club or your favorite local diner or even hangouts at someone’s apartment and sitting together, jeno’s arm draped around you or your head on his shoulder. you show up and leave hand in hand. every once in a while, he’ll even drop kisses to your temple or hairline to really seal the deal.

but your mind can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fake, and the lines start to blur. you swear you’re starting to imagine things: fond glances from him, is he holding you just a little tighter or is that a figment of your imagination, why’s he lingering at your front door after dropping you off at home? there’s no chance that’s all for show, right?

lee haechan is the neighbor of the family you’re working as an au pair for. you’re young and fresh out of college, but instead of going straight into a regular job, you decided to go abroad. you were lucky to find a great job as an au pair for a couple and their seven year old daughter; they offered room and board, a good salary, and weekends off (unless needed) in exchange for your services in taking care of their child and helping maintain the house. you confirmed almost immediately and left for their country within the week, nothing but two suitcases and a carry-on.

during your first week, you stuck mainly to your host family’s house, only really leaving to drop off or pick up the daughter from school. but when the weekend rolls around and the parents are off work, they tell you to do some exploring, giving you their personal recommendations for all kinds of stores, restaurants, and cafes. the mother ushers you goodnaturedly to the front door and tells you not to come back for at least two hours, to enjoy and get to know the area, especially if you’ll be around for as long as they need you.

so with a little bit of pocket money and your backpack, you’re left standing on the front lawn with no earthly idea where to go first. you’re just about to pull out your phone and look up the closest location they recommended when a call of hey! startles you. you nearly jump out of your skin and turn to look at the person who interrupted you. he’s decently tall and broad with honey bronze skin and a life-changing smile.

he waves you over and meet him at the edge of the front lawn, his eyes bright and airy, untouched by negativity. he introduces himself as haechan, the grandson of the woman who lives next door. he tells you that he’s going to university here in the city and lives with his grandma, which surprises you; it’s really not as bad as it could be, a twenty something year old living with his grandma, he tells you, i come home to a warm meal every night. but he shakes his head, getting himself back on track.

“anyways, my grandma mentioned something about the neighbors getting a nanny and i haven’t seen you around before, so that must be you, right?”

you nod, telling him you’re an au pair (fancy term, he interjects. cooler than nanny) from abroad and you’ve never visited this country before. he smiles, radiant and welcoming, and suggests that he give you a tour of all the best places, promising to make it worth your while. when you mention that the parents told you not to come back for at least a couple of hours, he nods dutifully and says, “i’m the best tour guide you could possibly had. we’ll be gone for four hours minimum.”

it makes you laugh, the look on his face, and infected by his sunny personality, you shrug, giving him a why not? you could do with a local guide.

“lead the way.”

na jaemin is the frat boy whose friends dare him to date you. he sees you often at the parties his frat throws, always in tow with your more outgoing, popular friends. he’s not entirely sure how you become a hot topic among his friend group (he thinks it’s because you’re so different from the rest of your group), but you do. on nights they get drunk, they often end up discussing you, how you ended up in that gang of friends when you so clearly do not fit in with them; even when you do look like you’re enjoying yourself at a party, you never quite get to the level your friends do.

one night, the discussion turns to a rumor that they heard going around about you: you’ve never had a boyfriend. his friends laugh about it, busting their sides over something so insignificant and so not their business. jaemin doesn’t find any amusement in it; if anything, he thinks it’s kind of cute, if it’s even true. the boys take notice of his silence and when seungmin casts a scheming glance around the table, jaemin feels a chill run through him.

“jaemin,” the younger boy drawls. “dare ya to date ‘em.”

jaemin immediately shakes his head. “the fuck’s wrong with you? that’s fucked up. i’m not doing that for a stupid ass dare.”

seungmin shrugs and leans back in his seat, head tilted back as he takes a drink out of his natty light. a laugh ripples across the group of boys and jaemin has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes; he’s not cruel and he’s not doing that to you, not when you’ve been nothing but sweet to him in the few conversations you’ve had. but then jeongin, the worst culprit of provoking everyone and instigating shit, says it’s because jaemin is too goody-too-shoes, too lame to do something and against his better judgment, jaemin jumps in, heat creeping under his skin, scorching him from the inside out.

“fine, i’ll do it, but i’m expecting compensation for any date,” he says hotly. “you’re paying for it all since it was your stupid ass idea.”

the group almost protests, but jaemin silences them with a deadly look. he reminds them a second time that they’re the ones who came up with the idea, he’s not paying for this out of his own pocket (at least not yet).

when he waltzes up to you at the next party, a seagram’s escape from his own personal stash in his hand for you, you’re immediately suspicious. but his smile is soft, his gaze impossibly softer, the whole of it disarming. he chats you up easily and by the end of the night, your number is secure in his phone, your text log pinned to the top of his messages, and a potential plan to go get breakfast at a hole-in-the-wall diner next week. he smiles when you turn back and wave to him as you’re leaving.

this whole thing is supposed to be a bet, but he’s always wanted to get to know you better, so if he can get his stupid ass friends to bankroll all the dates he plans to take you on, he figures it’ll be killing two birds with one stone.

zhong chenle is the boy your friend has a crush on. he’s in your general psychology class; he sits a couple of rows behind you in the lecture hall, always has the best discussion board posts, always sets the high score for every test, quiz, and assignment. he’s also involved in the choir on campus and he lives in the same dorm building that you and your friend do.

you see him on campus in passing all the time, frequenting the dining hall and the library on the same schedules. your friend, iseul, is almost always with you during these instances too and she starts crushing… hard. you can’t say you blame her: he’s pretty and intelligent and kind of mysterious. you’ve heard whispers of him being the campus crush, which doesn’t surprise you in the slightest.

one friday night, a little bit gone off a blue razzberry beatbox, iseul pleads to you on your dorm room floor, kneeled on the hard linoleum floor and hands pressed together, the whole nine yards. she wants you to help her get with chenle, she really likes him but because she doesn’t have a way of meeting him naturally, you’re her next best bet. she makes you a million promises: she’ll do your laundry for a month, she’ll buy the groceries for the room, she’ll buy your coffee at the campus cafe for the next year, whatever it takes.

she’s near tears when you finally cave in and help her; she hasn’t spoken a single word to that boy, but she’s already so whipped and you’re not sure if you’re ready to hear her whine if you say no. she’s very lucky that you have a group project for your gen psych class and chenle is in your cohort. you don’t have a single clue about how you’re going to play cupid for her, but you suppose you’ll figure it out as you go.

when you, chenle, and the other two members of your group meet for the first time, you’re ready to help iseul bag the man of her dreams. but the more your group meets, the more time you spend sitting next to chenle, his body heat tangible and his cologne invading your senses, the more you exchange ideas and small talk, the more you realize that you like him quite a bit, more than you should.

and then you start hanging out with him outside of the project too, getting coffee or sharing a table at the library or eating dinner on the nights that iseul doesn’t join you for a meal. he laughs at your jokes, asks questions, talks to you about things other than academics. the more you spend your time with him, the harder it gets to want to matchmake him with iseul.

but you made her a promise and you’d be a bad friend to break that promise.

park jisung is your first love, even if he doesn’t know it. he’s a million of your favorite romance tropes rolled into one: childhood best friend, boy next door, campus crush. everything about him is so sweet and kind and cute, it’s next to impossible to not fall in love with him, not when he has everything in the world going for him.

you grow up together, your moms best friends since high school, so you’ve been raised as best friends since birth. you’ve had joint birthdays, matching gifts, a shared cake, all of it. all of your big duo achievements have been celebrated together and you’ve been each other’s dates to every high school dance, including your senior prom. it’s just always been you and jisung, always intertwined, forever written in the stars.

you both decide to go to the same college, manage to get assigned to the same dorm building and into the same gen ed classes because neither of you can imagine going through university without the other. it’s not that you’re codependent (at least not unhealthily so), but he’s your self-proclaimed life partner. you don’t have to follow the same path, just ones that are parallel to each other.

but when you start university, he quickly becomes the heartthrob of your dormitory and then the entire campus. jisung, as he always has been, is oblivious to the extra attention he gets from your classmates, the glances they shoot him in the dining hall, their less than innocent invitations to hang out in their dorm rooms. despite your decades-long friendship, you’ve never really talked about crushes or love or anything of the sort and he’s never given any indication that he likes you romantically, so there’s no reason for you to feel that sharp, ugly pang of jealousy in your gut when another classmate leans a little too close towards him to ask a question while you’re standing in line at the dining hall, waiting to swipe your meal cards.

but you do. it is sharp and painful and terrifying the way you feel so viscerally upset when your peers, girls and guys alike, try to make passes at jisung. you always knew you felt differently about your childhood friend, the one you’ve known since literal diapers, but not to this extent. and you realize one night while you’re drinking contraband alcohol in your dorm room that your feelings stem from a place in your heart you can trace all the way back to eighth grade when he asked you to be his date to the valentine’s day dance when the person you asked rejected you very publicly.

park jisung is not yours, not officially, but your heart has belonged to him for years and you’re too deep in to take it back. maybe if he was just a little less oblivious or you a little less anxious to put your friendship on the line for it.

#kvanity #klabels #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct x reader #nct fluff #kpop fluff #mark lee x reader #renjun x reader #mark x reader #jeno x reader #haechan x reader #jaemin x reader #chenle x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #writing.fic #nct dream.fic

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pazzesco · 6 months

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Queen of Bohemia

Amedeo Modigliani -Jeune Femme (Nina Hamnett) - 1917

Roger Fry - Nina Hamnett avec une guitare - 1917

Nina Hamnett (1890–1956) was a Welsh artist and writer, and an expert on sailors’ chanteys, who became known as the Queen of Bohemia. Flamboyantly unconventional, and openly bisexual, Hamnett once danced nude on a Montparnasse café table just for the “hell of it”. She drank heavily, was sexually promiscuous, and kept numerous lovers and close associations within the artistic community. Very quickly, she became a well-known bohemian personality throughout Paris and modelled for many artists. She went on to have a love affair with Brzeska, and later with Amedeo Modigliani and Roger Fry.

Amedeo Modigliani - Woman with Red Hair (Nina Hamnett) - 1917

Nina Hamnett - Self Portrait - 1913

British painter, designer, and illustrator, famous more for her flamboyant bohemian life than for her work. She was born in Tenby, Wales, the daughter of an army officer, and studied at various art schools in Dublin, London, and finally Paris. On her first night there she met the Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani. He introduced her to Picasso, Serge Dighilev, and Jean Cocteau, and she went to live at the famous artist’s residence of La Ruche which housed many other Bohemian artists and modernist writers. It was there that she met the Norwegian artist Roald Kristian (also known as Edgar de Bergen), whom she married in 1914. She seems to have been relieved when he was deported as an unregistered alien during the First World War; they never saw one another again.

Like other women at the time reveling in a newfound independence, she had her hair cut short in a ‘crophead’ style (what we would now call a basin cut) and she wore eccentric clothing:

"I wore in the daytime a clergyman’s hat, a check coat, and a skirt with red facings … white stockings and men’s dancing pumps and was stared at in the Tottenham Court Road. One had to do something to celebrate one’s freedom and escape from home."

Roger Fry - Nina Hamnett - 1917

Nina Hamnett - "Rupert Doone" - Dancer - 1922

Nina Hamnett - "Dolores" - 1931

From 1913 to 1919 Hamnett worked for Roger Fry's Omega Workshops; Fry (with whom she had a love affair) painted several portraits of her. In the 1920s, she spent much of her time in Paris, where once again she knew many leading figures of the avant-garde, including Jean Cocteau and the composers Satie and Stravinsky.

During the 1920s (and for the rest of her life) she made the area in central London known as Fitzrovia her home and stamping ground. This new locale for arty-Bohemia was centred on the Fitzroy Tavern in Charlotte Street which she frequented along with fellow Welsh artists Augustus John and Dylan Thomas, making occasional excursions across Oxford Street to the Gargoyle Club in Soho.

Nina Hamnett - Illustrated Osbert Sitwell's "The People's Album of London Statues" - 1927

However, she often returned to London for exhibitions of her work, which included portraits, landscapes, interiors, and figure compositions (notably café scenes) in a robust style drawing on various modern influences. In addition to paintings, she made book illustrations (spontaneous pen-and-ink drawings), notably for Osbert Sitwell's The People's Album of London Statues (1928). From the 1930s the quality of her work declined, partly because of the influence of alcohol.

In 1932 she published a volume of memoirs entitled Laughing Torso, which was a best-seller in both the UK and the USA. Following its publication she was sued by Aleister Crowley, whom she had accused of practicing black magic. The ensuing trial caused a sensation which helped sales of the book, and Crowley lost his case.

Hamnett enjoying herself with some new friends

Her success in this instance only fuelled her downward spiral, and she spent the last three decades of her life propping up the bar of the Fitzroy trading anecdotes of her glory years for free drinks. She took little interest in personal hygiene, was incontinent in public, and vomited into her handbag.

Her ending was as spectacular as had been her previous life. Drunk one night she either fell or jumped from the window of her flat and was impaled on the railing spikes below.

#art #Nina Hamnett #Laughing Torso #Osbert Sitwell #artist #Queen of Bohemia #amedeo modigliani #paintings #drawings #roger fry #aleister crowley #picasso #hamnett #illustrations #modigliani

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patron-minette · 8 months

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The ‘bon ami’ quote: Montparnasse and Éponine

During the rue Plumet sequence in Les Misérables, we see Éponine employ a range of different tactics to try and get her father and the Patron-Minette to leave the property, initially attempting to again convince them that the house is not worth robbing before making her famous speech of defiance.

When it comes to Montparnasse in this scene, Éponine appears to appeal to him in a slightly more personal (and/or romantic) way than the other Patron-Minette rogues. She initially addresses him informally— “Comment ça va, Montparnasse”— and uses language throughout the chapter that indicates she shares a closer relationship with him than she does with the other members of this criminal gang, employing numerous terms of endearment such as “mon petit Montparnasse” throughout (I’ve written a separate post going into further detail on this so will not repeat myself here). In addition to this, she holds out and grabs his hand early on in the chapter: “Éponine prit la main de Montparnasse” and appeals to him specifically about not going in, saying he is a “good boy”.

All these phrases vaguely imply that these two characters are a little closer than the other figures present in the scene. However, there is one other telling phrase that I feel is of particular importance when it comes to examining the glimmers of dynamic between Montparnasse and Éponine:

“Mon bon ami Monsieur Montparnasse”

What makes this line so noteworthy? Well, because “bon ami” has numerous meanings… On one hand, and in a literal sense, it translates to ‘good friend’. However, ‘bon ami’ is also a common way one might refer to their partner or lover informally. In fact, we even see ‘bon ami’ used in other parts of the novel to explicitly refer to a lover in a tongue-and-cheek manner—specifically, ‘bonne amie’ is used when we are introduced to Babet's mistress!

So, again, here is another instance where Hugo makes an obvious allusion to the fact that Montparnasse and Éponine are likely sleeping together (the first indicator being in the “Némorin” line).

It is the “bon” in “bon ami” which is especially notable in this context. Normally, the phrase ‘mon ami’ was only really reserved for close friends— which is interesting enough anyway, as even under these circumstances it certainly indicates that Éponine perceives herself to be very close to Montparnasse. But, the added ‘mon bon ami’ indicates an even closer relationship than ‘mon ami’ does. While the term cannot be used as an indicator of any sort of formal relationship going on between Montparnasse and Éponine, it certainly is suggestive.

Why would Hugo bother using this ambiguous phrase here? Well, to me it appears to be a purposeful call-back to the couple’s rendezvous on the night of the failed Gorbeau ambush— where Montparnasse was “être Némorin” with Éponine. However, it should be noted that “mon bon ami” is a far more suggestive indication that these characters might’ve actually shared more of a ‘romantic’ relationship than the “Némorin” line does (which, in context, only really suggests that Montparnasse and Éponine slept together on the night of the Gorbeau ambush).

Additionally, in this particular moment I feel it is crucial for readers to acknowledge the semi-infrequent, potentially partially romantic dynamic that exists between these characters, as it makes things all the more crushing when we then see Montparnasse turn around and threaten Éponine’s life at the end of this scene—so perhaps that was also a motivating factor for the suggestive line to feature in this chapter.

Because of the phrase’s multiple meanings, there have been a myriad of different ways that ‘mon bon ami’ has been translated over time. I have compiled how these lines appear in every major English translation of Les Misérables below, excluding the A. F. Richard translation (1863), since it cut the rue Plumet scene. Sidenote, these below examples are really great indicators of just how different some of these translations are!:

"Mon petit Montparnasse," répondit Éponine très doucement, "il faut avoir confiance dans les gens. Je suis la fille de mon père peut-être." [...] "Mon bon ami monsieur Montparnasse", dit Éponine, "je vous en prie, vous qui êtes bon enfant, n'entrez pas!"

—In original French, 1862

"My darling Montparnasse," answered Éponine very gently, "we must have confidence in people. I am my father's daughter, perhaps." [...] "My good friend Monsieur Montparnasse," said Éponine, "I beg you, you who are a good boy, don't go in!"

—Wilbour trans., 1862

"My dear Montparnasse," Éponine replied very gently, "confidence ought to be placed in people, and I am my father's daughter, perhaps." [...] "My kind M. Montparnasse," Éponine said, "I ask you, who are a good fellow, not to go in."

—Wraxhall trans., 1862

"My little Montparnasse," responded Éponine very gently, "you must have confidence in people. I am the daughter of my father, perhaps." [...] My good friend, Mr. Montparnasse," said Éponine, "I entreat you, you are a good fellow, don’t enter."

—Hapgood trans., 1887

"Montparnasse, my love," said Éponine very sweetly, "you must learn to trust people. Aren't I my father's daughter?" [...] "Montparnasse, you're my friend," said Éponine, "you're a good lad. Don't go in!"

—Denny trans., 1976

—Wilbour trans. revised by Lee Fahnestock and Norman MacAfee. 1987

"My dear Montparnasse," Éponine replied very sweetly, "you must learn to trust people. I am my father's daughter, after all." [...] "My very dear friend, Monsieur Montparnasse," said Éponine, "please, you're a good boy, don’t go in!"

—Rose trans., 2007

"My dear Montparnasse," Éponine replied very softly, "you should trust people. I'm my father's daughter, after all." [...] "My dear friend, Monsieur Montparnasse," said Éponine, "you're a decent lad, I beg you not to go in there."

—Donougher trans., 2013

#les mis letters #lm 4.8.4 #montparnasse #eponine #eponine thenardier #les miserables #les mis #the brick #rue plumet #meta #quotes #némorin #personally I think that some of these English translations aren’t doing enough to emphasise the undertones to Éponine’s language here #(first post in a while lol— you know it was going to be about Montparnasse and Éponine)

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sitp-recs · 4 months

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Thank you for all your recs! I was wondering if you had enjoyed any femslash fics recently? I’m open to any pairings! Thanks!

You’re welcome, anon! I haven’t read much this year but I definitely have some recent femslash recs for you. Enjoy :)

the press of heat by earlybloomingparentheses (Linny, E, 1.8k)

It's summer, it's late, it's hot, and Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood touch each other for the first time on the front porch.

Only One Bed at the Three Broomsticks by @thistlecatfics (Andromeda/Augusta, M, 2k)

Andromeda drinks only one day a week, when she doesn't have Teddy to look after, because she is a responsible grandmother and certainly not an alcoholic. Getting too drunk to Apparate home is expected. The presence of Augusta is not.

One Or The Other by @sleepstxtic (Dorcas/Narcissa, Dorcas/Marlene, E, 3k)

Dorcas becomes a murderer at eight o’clock on a Friday night.

collarbones like a bow, skin an arrow to the heart by @lqtraintracks (Ginsy, E, 4k)

Gin’s adjusting the lighting for their next shoot when in walks the new model Luna was so enthusiastic about, and that’s when they know they’re in deep shit.

Obscure Topography by montparnasse (Flonks, M, 5k) - not a new fic but I found it recently!

Sometimes, Tonks realizes, coming at each other from awkward angles makes you stick, elbows and all.

Green Light by @sorrybutblog (Ginny/Hermione, E, 6k)

What if the best way to get over Ron was to get under Ginny?

Looking For A Complication by The_wig_is_a_metaphor (Narcissa/Ginny, M, 8k)

“Mother, when I said you should get out more," Draco shouts, "I did not mean you should have an illicit affair with a scandalously younger woman!"

Nicotine/Linger by @teacup-tai (Pansmione, E, 26k)

Pansy has been living a slow Muggle life in Ireland for five years now. Managing her anxiety and trauma with one too many drinks, way more anonymous fucks in loos than strictly advised, wonderful Muggle friends and a job that keeps her hands busy. Life is kinda alright -though a tad bit fucked up- until she stumbles into Hermione Granger in the Muggle Hospital.

you will burn right now but then you won't regret it by @thistlecatfics (Flonks, M, 31k)

Eight years after Voldemort’s defeat, as the illegal potions trade ravages England and the government intensifies lycanthropic restrictions in response, Fleur and Tonks join forces to uncover corruption in the Ministry.

Passion, Patents, and Pen Pals at the Ministry by @violetclarity and yrfrndfrnkly (Pansmione, T, 32k)

After an extremely ill-timed lovers'-tiff-turned-food-fight at the Ministry leaves her less one boyfriend and suspended without pay for six months, Hermione pleads for some position–anything–to fill her days until her suspension is up.

#asks #anon #hp rare pair #femslash recs

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fillsta · 2 years

Text

How to explain Les Mis characters to your friends

Enjolras 'Enjy dearest', 'Enj':

Angry blond boy. "Eat the rich". Either gay or aroace. His celebrity crush is Robespierre. He may or may not have a crush on a specific wine lover. Also Aaron Tveit. That's it

Combeferre 'Ferre':

The 'hot' scholar. Rly likes moths I guess. Wears glasses bc he's smart and smart ppl wear glasses. Has done nothing wrong, ever. We love him .

Courfeyrac 'Courf':

Everybody's friend. Flirty, fruity bitch. Round and lovable. Possibly in a relationship with either Combeferre or Jehan. Marius' own personal extrovert. Keeps the group together. Portrayed by the Mighty, the Fruity Fra Fee.

Grantaire 'R':

Likes to drink. A lot. Bi bitch, hopelessly in love with a certain blondie. Hold-hands-before-getting-shot-to-death kind of crush. Rly good at history and philosophy. Cynic. Also, fandom decided that he draws<3. Big hobo energy. Ask the fandom about the actor in the 2012 musical and they'll shed tears

Jean Prouvaire 'Jehan':

Ah yes, the softie. Love poetry and playing the flute. Most likely smoke weed. Plant parent. Gender unknown. We love their hippie bullshit. I don't remember the actor's name but he was kinda cute

Bahorel 'Baho':

The fruity gym bro. Enjoys fistfighting. Possibly Feuilly's bf. Man bun and beard. Studies law but doesn't want to be a lawyer. Doodles instead. Gavroche's idol. His celebrity crush is probably Dwayne Johnson or sth.

Feuilly:

IwbavajsbJzkabzjsvs. We love him. He's pure and innocent. Orphan. Makes fans for a living. Really loves the countries of the world. Headcannoned as Polish. Enjolras' fav ho. Wears flannels. I'll stop here because oh boi I can go on for ages

Bossuet/Lesgles:

Bald guy. Wholesome. He's also extremely unlucky and Victor made sure that's his only personality trait. Polyamoryyyy. His bf is Joly, his gf is Musichetta. It's just... Bossuet, you know?

Joly:

Doctor? Yeah, did I mention he's a germaphobe? Poor guy. Eccentric asf. Carries a cane everywhere. Will wake up in the middle of the night to align his bed according to the earth's poles and shit. Yes, he has a bf and gf, as previously mentioned.

Gavroche 'Gav':

Best boiiii. Smol, like, 10-12 yrs old. Savage. Absolutely destroyed Enjolras when in an argument. Also managed to trick a skilled criminal once. Rip, he would have loved Minecraft. Eponine and Azelma's brother. Courfeyrac's instant son. Looks up to Bahorel.

Marius Pontmercy:

The Most Awkward Human Being. Like, fr. Courfeyrac's emotional support introvert. Possibly the only straight here but who knows??? Idk he's kinda close with Courf. Anyway Enj amd Ferre scare him. Especially Ferre. He somehow gets a gf??? Survived

Eponine 'Ponine' Thenardieur

Marius' side ho. Has a crush on him. Bit I think she's gayyyy. Or bi. There's no way she's interested in men only. Anyway, poor. Terrible household situation :(. Feminist. I hope she gets a gf in her second life. R had a smol crush on her but that was just a phase. She deserved better, like everyone.

Cosette Fauchelevent/Valjean:

Marius' main ho (how this guy manages to get bitches is beyond me). Cottagecore goth (is that a thing?). Adopted. Such a sweet gal. Eponine could also be her gf <3.

Montparnasse 'Parnasse':

Ah him. Okay this guy. He is s narcissistic but a good one. One day he looked in the mirror and said 'Wow im hot lets murder people' and so he did exactly that. Said criminal tricked by Gavroche. 'Dandy'. He's so cool I love him sm.

Azelma Thenardieur:

Poor girl doesn't get any development. She's just there. Survived. Is rly cool tho, trust me.

Jean Valjean:

Stole bread and went to jail for 19 years. Villain origin story. Then he stole from a child (which may or may not have been Feuilly but that's another story for another post) and he instantly went good. Became mayor and businessman. One of his employees died so he found her daughter and raised her. Survived for a while. Is supposed to be the protagonist lol. Wholesome grandpa

Inspector Javert 'Jav jav man':

Is his life's goal to arrest Valjean. I say enemies to lovers trope. Starts off as a bitch, tbh.

Fantine:

My poor girl deserved the world. Her bf got her pregnant and fled :(. She gave Cosette over to some strangers to raise her while she worked in a nearby town, sending them money for Cosette's expenses. That's a no no there but ok. Gets fired, becomes a prostitute, dies. So of any of you out there shame sex workers I'll choke u while u sleep.

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ofpd · 8 months

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I’d be interested in a non exr fic rec list

ok yes sorry this took a while to answer, i wanted to get through some fics on my tbr before posting it :)

The Pursuit of Light | enjolras & feuilly | 3.3k

"Let's start with the first conjugation," Enjolras says, taking up the pen beside him and scribbling down a list of words Feuilly is entirely unfamiliar with. "I hope my handwriting isn't too arcane."

True Fraternity | enjolras & feuilly | 2k

When Feuilly goes on a trip with his bourgeois friends to practice shooting, he feels increasingly out of place.

Farouche | combeferre/enjolras | 0.8k

Enjolras and Combeferre's friendly debate about love, family structures, and women goes a wee tiny bit off the rails, and Enjolras reacts even more severely to being hit on when he's interested than when he's not.

Driven Like the Snow | éponine/marius, éponine/montparnasse | 2.9k

The night after the Gorbeau robbery, Eponine wanders the streets of Paris.

Unravel | éponine/marius | 18.2k

Éponine Thénardier can "unravel" time--jump backward a few minutes or hours and let events play out again, sometimes slightly different from before. It's a secret little thing that she uses occasionally, to get herself out of trouble or avoid minor accidents. She's never tried to do anything big with it because, on the whole, she's happy with her life--her family's inn is successful, they live in a nice neighborhood in Paris, and she's in love with a kind and beautiful boy named Marius. But when her lover is killed on the barricades of the June Rebellion, she has to try to fix it--even if it means using her power on a scale she's never dreamed of. Even if it means throwing away everything else she has.

Under a Moonlit Sky | bahorel/fantine | 25.1k

The year is 1817. After Félix Tholomyès' little suprise, a despairing Fantine thinks she might go to her hometown of M-sur-M to find work. Instead, she decides to find Tholomyès and make him acknowledge Cosette. Enter a young man who would love to have an excuse to travel South (as far away from the law faculty as possible) and is uniquely suited to hunting down terrible men...

In Which Is To Be Learned The Name of Enjolras's Fake Fiancée | cosette & enjolras | 52.3k (unfinished)

It was true, Cosette allowed, that he was nothing at all like the beautiful young man from the Luxembourg, but she must not judge him unkindly for that. The world was full of young men, and it would be quite tedious if all the handsome ones were handsome in the same way.

#stuff tagged ep/marius includes unrequited ofc #anyway there have been more that ive enjoyed but here are some favorites #all canon era lol. that does tend to be what i like. also part of why theres unfortunately no epoferre here #that doesn't work in canon era LOL. but also i once read a fic mistagged as epoferre and have not wanted to look in the tag since #also my pursuit for good eposette fic has proved fruitless :/#so far at least #asks #anon #les mis #i could give commentary on these but i always feel a bit weird doing that. like this is tumblr the authors could see #oh i guess i couldve included the most viscerally upsetting fic ive ever read in this but 1) its kinda exr and 2) i dont wanna think abt it #if anyones curious though u can dm me

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wilwywaylan · 1 year

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Sometimes Valentine’s Day is best spent watching your love / best friend / mentor / boss / secret lover while he catches on much deserved sleep.

Aka Kazper is love and we love them together.

Happy Valentine’s Day, you all, I love you all ! But especially @crow-songs-at-dawn, the Montparnasse to my Jehan !

[image ID : Jesper, a black man with curly black hair and grey eyes, wearing a white shirt, purple waistcoat, black pants and leather black shoes, is sitting cross-legged on a golden, ornated armchair. He’s holding a book, but he’s looking at the bed, his head leaning on his hand. On the bed, Kaz, a white man with black, slicked-back hair, wearing a black waistcoat and shirt, is sleeping. He’s covered up to the waist with black blankets. His cane is leaning against the carved bed. The room is richly decored, with a large carpet on the wooden floor and several pictures hanging on the grey-green walls, including the DeKappel. A desk with plans can be seen on the other side of the bed. The scene is lit by a lone lamp on the nightstand, casting a golden glow on both characters. end ID]

#shadow and bone #six of crows #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #kazper #le p'tit fantome #don't ask #I love you even if they have so many problems #they are so cute #my Drawings

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les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques · 6 months

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A little more of what I’m up to:

If I ever let you leave Mazanderan, Behrouz once said, wind rifling through his hair, you must promise me there will be no more reckless violence. No more death upon your hands. There is a worthy man somewhere inside of you. Make something good with him.

At first, Erik laughed—right in his little Daroga’s bonny face, blessings on its memory—at the impossibility of such a promise. A man composed of death from head-to-toe had a right to his natural trade; take a sailor off the water and he will stumble around terra firma on his sea legs, after all.

But as the decades began to creep up on his tenure in Paris, Erik was mildly pleased to learn that there was little difference between killing and making art; perhaps it was why it had become so easy to replace one with the other almost entirely, save for a necessary indulgence. Destroy a sheet of newsprint, or else smatter it with carmine lake, rich as blood. Squeeze the life from a metal tube of paint, grind a pencil into a useless stub, and watch them slowly crumple into uselessness before your eyes. To say nothing of how hanging or stretching out a canvas was a considerably tidier affair than hanging or stretching out a men. Canvas did not piss itself or beg for god, did not leave behind wailing widows or round-eyed children. You were its god. You, its lover. You, the one who remained behind to witness their legacy.

Besides, it is not the inherently good man who makes art, or so he told himself, whenever his past sins slinked up against his memory like a cat. Rather, it is the man searching for his own meaning who does.

And ashamed as he was to admit it, music seemed to only bring pain these days. For though his violin inevitably found its way into his hands on a regular basis, song always blew through him like wind, biting and fast-fleeting. Such was first love grown cold, or so the poets said. Yet despite his crimes, he was young enough to believe a part of him was still capable of creating some sliver of beauty. Architecture had returned to him naturally in this phase of life, yet the Opera was Garnier’s child, however much he might interfere and hassle the man otherwise. And at the end of the day, whatever else he designed on his own terms, he was still building worlds for other men to inhabit. Men who still could live in this one unmolested and admired, despite their transgressions.

Such were the hard truths to confront in trying to exist like those men, nevermind the nightmare of his face: that music was ingrained and inevitable, impossible to forget because of the way it had woven itself around the tragedy that was his existence. That destroying buildings required a level of violence which he told himself was no longer within him. But drawings—paintings—ah! They were like mirrors. Easily smashed, highly forgettable if you saw enough of them in this world. And every day, a new luminary rose amongst society, only to be forgotten amongst a fresh wave of other image-makers. Fair play, then. Let him be a creator and an iconoclast—it was a step above being a monster.

It was in keeping with this train of thought that he dragged himself to the Salon that spring of 1865, false nose in place, ready to brave the brunt of a Paris thirsty for meaning in this rare period of bucolic nothingness. He’d been out of the world for most of his life, yet never had Erik felt the longing to finally join it so keenly; it whispered, low and lovely, that such a world was only just slightly out of his reach. And why should he believe otherwise? He’d a beautiful home on a quiet street in Montparnasse, a small office staffed with a handful of spineless but otherwise competent yes men, and a contract to one of the most important projects the city had seen in decades—perhaps centuries. Barring his ugliness, he was almost a gentleman. And modern gentlemen, it was understood, were men of art.

All of the chatter around that season’s exhibition concerned Manet’s latest ode to Paris: a massive vignette depicting some lady of ill-repute and her maid, the former staring directly at the viewer like she was Venus herself and not some stunted, stubby-legged creature summoned from the depths of Pigalle; he laughed when first saw it, delighted in the fact that most people in the room were horrified enough by her presence to ignore his entirely—despite the fact that a million such women floated in and our of their lives as easily as the breeze. Despite the fact that such women fucked the attending husbands, enraged their poor wives, and spent the money that might have gone to their children or good names on whatever it took to survive and, perhaps, survive well.

From beneath the wide brim of his hat, Erik glanced around the gallery; he imagined spotting his darling Behrouz’s amused scandal, found himself hoping to spot a convivial smile, or some other scrap of kindred humanity. Something to tell him that he was not completely alone in the world as he always knew was, deep down.

That was how he first saw her: a tall camellia amongst withering irises, dressed from head to toe in black silk despite the delightful May weather. Beneath the little veil on her hat was a face worthy of Marianne—a straight, patrician nose; wide, almondine eyes; a mouth that looked as if it were sculpted for the sole purpose of indiscriminate, egalitarian kissing. But as beautiful as she was, it was the expression on her face that arrested him so. It was hard to describe, save for that it was something like a mixture of humiliation and proud understanding—the same emotion he felt as the crowds of Nizhny Novgorod showered him in gold in praise of his ugliness. Her spine remained ramrod straight all the while, despite the large man on her arm chortling and whispering something in her ear, the corner of her mouth downturning ever so slightly. Even as her chaperone walked away, she remained fixed in that position, save for the occasional nervous swipe of a gloved thumb over her parasol’s handle.

And somewhere, above the offended din of the masses, Erik heard a music he’d long forgotten—the awful thumping of his heart.

#the phantom of the opera #erik #gaston leroux #fan fic #original characters #pre-canon #art history au #i gotta use my art history degree for something #original character #erik x oc

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