#minette complains

[minetteskvareninova]

It’s absolutely wild to me that American right-wingers can take a look at the totalitarian communist regimes in eastern Europe and conclude that the bad part was state providing basic services (healthcare, education etc.) and not, y’know. The totalitarianism.

#communism #minette complains #czechoslovakia #czech republic #slovakia #posts in czech #čumblr #it's totally fine to ban books #and disrespect fair elections when your opponent wins #but socialized healthcare?! #now THAT'S how you go full ksč!

[patron-minette]

Theatres of crime in Les Misérables; analysing the Patron-Minette

Victor Hugo uses theatrical language to introduce the Patron-Minette, describing them as a ‘troupe’. But, has anyone else noticed how the comparison between crime and performative acts is extended right down to the four leaders of the gang, who all uniquely align with the specific attributes of certain circus acts?

The longer I think about it the more captivated I am by these supposed parallels drawn between crime as being inherently theatrical and dramatic in relation to the Patron-Minette – I hope that this post will help explain these comparisons in more detail! [All quotes mentioned below are from the Julie Rose translation of the text]

Circus Archetypes

The four leaders of the Patron-Minette; Gueulemer, Babet, Claquesous, and Montparnasse, are all seen to hold particular attributes and attitudes reminiscent of famous entertainers/figures of the circus.

We already know that Babet and Claquesous possess some of the same exact skills as circus performers. This is explicitly portrayed in relation to Babet, who we are told worked as ‘a buffoon at Bobèche’s and a clown at Bobino’s. He had played vaudeville at Saint-Mihiel […] He had shown freaks at fairs’ before leaving to “tackle” Paris. Likewise, the mysterious masked Claquesous is repeatedly referred to as a “ventriloquist”, and therefore is clearly associated with entertainer culture even if we are not sure exactly how he picked up this skill.

However, in the cases of Gueulemer and Montparnasse, there is no such direct comparison to circus-like figures. Despite this, I think it is fairly obvious that Gueulemer easily can be compared to the traditional “strongman” theatrical role, being described as a ‘lowlife Hercules’ with ‘pectorals of marble, biceps of bronze, cavernous lungs, the torso of a colossus’.

Yet, it seems a little bit more tricky to assign Montparnasse to such an archetype... even though it is doubtless that he is a theatrical character with circus-like skills, hinted in small details such as when Gavroche asks Montparnasse to ‘do Punchinello’ for him and his mômes.

My original thoughts on this were perhaps that Montparnasse fits into the “ringleader” archetype, with his dramatic clothes and general demeanour. However, being a “ringleader” character would involve conducting this circus-like troupe, which, despite being one of the four heads of the Patron-Minette, Montparnasse clearly does not do. If anything Babet is more of a “ringleader” of the four Patron-Minette heads. Instead, Montparnasse could perhaps be interpreted as the Patron-Minette’s young prodigy  – which urges me to position his character within this circus metaphor as the “star” or “face” of the group.

What I mean by this is that Montparnasse is a “star” in the sense that he is described as a criminal sensation despite his young age, being a young man who ‘had all the vices and aspired to all the crimes’. Montparnasse also arguably sees himself as the “star” of the group – he appears to be arrogant enough to skip jobs, and (seemingly) is able to get away with it without the other Patron-Minette heads complaining too much or intervening. 

Perhaps his arrogance is deserved though - does Montparnasse have more of a reputation that Babet, Claquesous, or Gueulemer? Well, let’s take a look at his introduction below and be reminded of how dangerous he truly is:

Few prowlers were as feared as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he already had several bodies to his name. More than one passerby, with their arms outstretched and their face in a pool of blood, lay dead in the shadow of this miserable wretch. With his crimped and pomaded hair, his pinched waist, his womanly hips, and the bust of a Prussian officer, surrounded by the murmur of admiration of the girls on the boulevard, his tie suavely knotted, a club in his pocket and a flower in his buttonhole; such was this fop of the house of death.

The obvious reputation that Montparnasse has is indeed unique, and we never see any description like this applied to the other Patron-Minette heads. Although it should not be forgotten that Hugo does acknowledge that the Patron-Minette are notorious as a collective group – Montparnasse clearly has a standalone reputation also. And unlike the other heads, he has “fans” in the form of the murmuring girls on the boulevard – which fits nicely into this idea of him as the “star” in this crime circus allegory.

•

The group as a ‘troupe’

So, after that (unnecessarily long) diversion, we end up with unique, clearly defined circus-like roles being implicitly thrust upon each head of the Patron-Minette.

But, it doesn’t just stop there. The Patron-Minette’s associates are also listed off in a similarly theatrical way. Hugo writes that, by listing off these associates, we as readers might obtain a better understanding of the ‘play’ that the Patron-Minette effectively perform; ‘Sometimes you can tell what a play is like from the list of the characters, similarly, you can more or less appreciate a gang by the list of gangsters’. Here crime and theatre are directly compared to each-other. We also see this link reiterated when Hugo details how the Patron-Minette works as a firm:

Thanks to their offshoots and to the underlying network of their contacts, Babet, Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse ran the general ambush business of the entire départment of the Seine. They performed the coups d’état of the underworld on unsuspecting passersby. Men with ideas in this line, men of nocturnal imagination, came to them to get the job done. People came to these four rogues with the outline and they took care of the stage management. They worked up a script. They were always able to provide the right number and type of personnel for any crime that needed a hand and was sufficiently lucrative. If a crime was shorthanded, they subcontracted accomplices. They had a troupe of shady extras at their disposal for any secret underworld drama.

Now, since it has been established that the Patron-Minette’s description corresponds to such theatrical analogies, we should begin to consider why would this criminal firm be compared to a circus troupe? It might seem an unusual comparison to make at first, but upon closer inspection many logical parallels reveal themselves.

In a symbolic sense, there are many similarities between the way that crime organisations and circus troupes are run. Both are mobile organisations, constantly on the move – disappearing and then seemingly reappearing in a new location every night to put on a new “performance”. There is also the fact that circuses tend to consist of various societal “outsiders”, much like a crime-ring does.

Both organisations also have a uniquely compelling nature in terms of danger and thrill. Much like how we are fascinated by watching dangerous feats being performed, are we not also morbidly captivated by the inherent spectacle of reading about dastardly crimes? This has been recognised at a genre level, where for many centuries there has been unique connections made across literature between the Gothic, horror, and theatrical institutions such as circuses and freakshows, likely for the same reasons stated above.

Perhaps the parallels drawn between the Patron-Minette heads and theatrical characters of the circus also provide a useful commentary on society’s general obsession with criminal figures as “celebrities” specifically. The relation between the Patron-Minette heads to various famous archetypes of the circus arguably illustrates the way that in society, notorious criminals often end up becoming famous and recognisable in the same way that a notable, talented performer might do. Comparisons such as these also present themselves in a vast range of stories from this era, including “Penny Dreadful” texts and “Sensation Novels” that relied on plots featuring powerful criminal personalities to bring in readership.

Circuses perform theatrical, dangerous spectacles that shock and thrill audiences - and much like this, we get similar thrilling reactions when reading sections of Les Misérables that involve the Patron-Minette performing risky schemes, such as the prison break at La Force. Therefore, the allegory of the Patron-Minette as a theatrical ‘troupe’ fits nicely, even if it seems a bit unusual upon first consideration. The comparison enables Hugo to emphasise the general theatrics of crime and explore how such gruesome, disturbing stories of murder and thievery can quickly transform into societal spectacle.

#patron minette #patron-minette #montparnasse #babet #claquesous #gueulemer #literary analysis #les miserables #les mis #the brick #meta #theatres of crime

[granhairdo]

talking a bit about shoujo cosette (mainly the patron-minette lmao)

shoujo cosette is just so perfect. it’s aimed at the just the right age demographic.

im assuming this is aimed at 8-12 year olds. so they’re old enough to

start to understand a lot of the systematic and fundamental issues the story brings up

keep track of an extensive list of characters

handle a less watered down version of the story

get a grasp on the historical background

but also still young enough for

cute signature dog!!! chou chou i love you

many humorous bits, not completely serious

and just a generalized more childish outlook on it

a few things i dislike about this adaptation

montparnasse and eponine’s dynamic. i don’t like the vibes here. he feels kinda rapey and it just gives me the icks. also they tried the nemorin bit but i think it was better without it it just came off really weird.

eponine has this whole “im so much better than my family and patron minette im so heroic” thing and it really bothers me.

i feel like this is a translation issue but they keep talking about “the infectious disease” and it’s really annoying.

fantine doesn’t get enough screen time.

where is claquesous’s mask???? why is he this crusty boi. what happened to him??? better than old man brujon in the 1972 miniseries though

things i love

babet is PERFECT. that is him. he could be tinier, but i can’t complain.

the best version of the prison break in any adaptation.

enjolras 😍

also “eenjolras” iykyk

the voice acting is INCREDIBLE. i really don’t think there’s anyone whom i dislike.

ill add more as i think of them

#les mis #shoujo cosette

[fanonbinary8]

This is the definition for clinical depression in my anatomy and physiology book

Pamela Minett and Laura Ginesi

clinical depression is feeling persistently and deeply sad for weeks or months, not just unhappy or fed up for a few days. it can follow on from life-changing events, eg. bereavement, unemployment, having a baby, or for no apparent reason. the disorder is quite common and affects about 1 in 10 people at some point in their lives - men, women and children. people with a family history of depression are also more likely to be affected.

clinical depression is an illness with a variety of symptoms:

- emotional symptoms range from lasting feelings of sadness and hopelessness, to losing interest in the things that used to be enjoyed, to frequent weeping. many people with depression also have anxiety

- physical symptoms range from feeling constantly exhausted, sleeping badly, having no appetite or sex drive, and complaining of various aches and pains

- severity of symptoms can vary from feeling persistently low in spirits (low mood) to feeling that life is no longer worth living and suicidal

what are your thoughts?

#depression #clinical depression #bereavement #hopelessness #anxiety #suicide mention #suicidal ideation mention #nursing

[widowedvestalis]

If I had a pet rat, I would name it Montparnasse.

Because he would be really pretty, very clean on himself, and he would take great care of his whiskers.

But, mostly, he would be a rat.

#montparnasse #les miserables #patron minette #im really thinking of doing that tho #i'd adopt a rat #i'd train it #would teach it to steal maybe? #and people would complain : #Oooh nooo where's my necklace?? #i would then shrug innocently #and they would say : #Fucking Montparnasse! #but no one is allowed to insult my bby rat #so i would send him to rob again #HA!

[babetsuggestions]

Tooth extraction isn't painful at all. I don't feel a thing.

#just let me take your teeth and stop complaining #babet #patron-minette #les miserables #les mis #suggestions

[alicedrawslesmis]

you know, people do complain about montparnasse's ugly vest in the BBC les mis but they forget that in the Gorbeau affair all the patron minette was canonically wearing vests with nothing beneath, I think it was a nod to that

you know, since the team apparently read the book

#im not sure davies has but the creatives sure did lmao

[ravenkinnie]

OH MY GOD there are so many ml fans that literally don’t like d*minette because the only people who do like it are salters, and most of the dc/mlb crossovers have alya salt (which is always just barely concealed racism) and adrien salt (which is a lot of the times victim blaming and taking everything he does out of proportion.) there are plenty of actually good blogs about ml, and you learn to just block the “ml salt” tag.

WAIT PAUSE SCREAM IS THAT WHAT PEOPLE CALL FANDOM COMPLAINING NOW??? SALT??? BACK IN MY DAY WE CALLED IT WANK remember when we had to tag negativity as wank for ts

Im gonna be real with u i never watched ml so all ml content is incomprehensible to me ejsbsjjs like i know adrien but idk who alya is

#asks

[mistydacat]

Marichat Day 10 || Can I borrow your miraculous

This is technically Ladrien, but frankly, I don’t give a crap.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng lay in her bed, snuggling up against her boyfriend. Tikki was nowhere to be seen but was probably eating some sort of sugary snack somewhere.

"Adrien?" She started. He opened his eyes to look at her.

"Yes, Purr-incess?"

"Do you think I'd purr and stuff as Lady Noire?"

His cat ear twitched in confusion.

"I don't see why not. Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know, I was just thinking. To be honest, there were a lot of things we didn't get the chance to explore when we switched miraculous. I barely even got time to process the outfit change during the battle. You know the braid was supposed to be my tail? I thought that was really cool. I wonder if I could undo the braid, and I'd just have really long hair."

Cat Noir chuckled. "You were very cute as Lady Noire."

Marinette gave him a pointed look. "What? I'm not cute when I'm Marinette, Multimouse, or Ladybug?"

Cat Noir smiled and leaned to rub his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss.

"You know what I mean."

"Anyways, I hope we get another opportunity to switch miraculous. I'd like to be Lady Noire again."

He knew Marinette wouldn't say, "Can I borrow your Miraculous?" probably because she didn't want him to think she was obnoxious, so she was strongly hinting at it.

Cat Noir started sliding his ring off, his transformation coming off with it. Plagg appeared.

"The Miraculous aren't meant to be used for you to play dress-up with them." He grumbled in his nasal voice.

"We know, but just this once? We'll leave you alone to hang out with Tikki afterwards." Marinette promised, knowing the two kwamis enjoyed spending time alone together, though neither of them would admit it. "And, I'll make croissants with camembert."

"Alright, fine." He gave in with a huff. "But just with once!"

Marinette removed her earrings and handed them to Adrien, who put them on his own ears. Even though only the ring would be activated, the idea of wearing both the Miraculous of creation and destruction made her feel uneasy.

"Plagg, claws out! She said. There was a flash of green light, and her pyjamas were replaced with a black catsuit. Her hair grew much longer and into a braid. One her transformation was complete, she looked up at Adrien, who was now in his own "I heart Ladybug" pyjamas.

"You look adorable!" He gushed.

She twirled the end of her braid around. "Are those Ladybug pyjamas I see?" She teased.

Adrien's cheeks coloured slightly.

"Well, I'm flattered." She practically purred.

"I'm going to put my hair down, mind lending a hand?"

Adrien nodded.

Lady Noire got up and went to her vanity, grabbing a hairbrush before returning to Adrien. She placed the brush down next to her and removed the green elastic from the end of her braid before starting to unbraid it.

It took her a while, and Adrien had to help her. Once she was finished, her hair practically pooled around her. Adrien picked up the hairbrush, and Lady Noire turned, so her back was facing away from him.

He took a section of her hair and started to brush it.

"Tell me if I hurt you, okay?" He said, placing a kiss on her shoulder, though there were no knots or tangles in her hair.

"Okay." Lady Noire agreed.

"Can I do your hair?" Adrien asked after he finished brushing it out.

"You know how to do hair?" Marinette turned to face him, looking impressed.

"Yeah. How would you like me to do yours?" He responded.

"I don't know, surprise me."

Adrien thought for a moment before an idea hit him. He parted her hair into two halves and began working on braiding one of them, starting from her hairline.

"Tell me if it's too tight, 'kay?"

"Mhmm."

Around fifteen minutes later, Adrien was done. The two teenagers got up and went to the mirror so Marinette could see herself, Adrien had braided two elegant dutch braids into her hair, leaving out her bangs and the shorter strands at the front.

"Wow, this looks great!" Gushed Marinette. She turned to Adrien, taking his hands and placing a kiss atop his knuckles. "My purr-ince is very talented."

"You could do your hair in any style and still look beautiful." Adrien complimented. His innocent demeanour shifted, turning a little more flirty, a side of him he would only show as Cat Noir.

"Now, let's see what Cat tendencies I can coax out of you like you always do to me." He smirked, pulling Marinette to sit next to him on her chaise.

Marinette lay her head on his side, the way she had watched him do many times before.

"This feels a little awkward." She admitted, her right cat ear squished against him.

"Don't worry," He said, leaning down to place a kiss on her head. "You'll forget about it soon." He paused for a second.

"I've never been on the giving end of this before, so if I do something wrong, or make you feel uncomfortable, just tell me."

Lady Noire nodded.

Adrien brought his left hand to her head, scratching gently behind her ear. His other hand went to take or gloved one, tracing slow circles on the back of her palm.

Lady Noire closed her eyes, relaxing into his touch.

"You're good at this." She whispered.

Adrien let go of her hand, placing his index finger under her chin and using his thumb to stroke her cheek. He tilted her face towards him and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on her nose's tip.

"My Kitty." He cooed.

Lady Noire blushed and looked away, a soft rumble sounding from her chest.

Was this how Cat Noir felt when she did this to him? Did his stomach flutter with butterflies at every touch, like hers was doing now?

"You're so cute." Continued Adrien, meeting her eyes.

"Who's my little kitten?" He asked, his voice patronizing, though she found it strangely satisfying.

"Me." She purred. "I'm your kitten." In any other situation, this would have been extremely embarrassing, but something about it was so intoxicating. Her brain felt foggy and sleepy.

"Good kitten." Adrien praised, though she hadn't really done anything. "Such a good kitty."

His words were like music to her ears. Her purrs grew louder, her way of telling him to keep going when she didn't trust her mouth to form coherent words.

"You have no idea how cute you look right now." He moved his fingers, focusing on a different part of her head to pet.

Marinette didn't know why, but him rubbing that specific spot just felt so good. She leaned into his touch, rubbing her head against his hand and accidentally letting out a soft mewl.

Adrien stilled. "Did you just..?"

Lady Noire whimpered and buried her head against his side, bring a hand to her face and hiding behind it. Her purrs silenced.

"No, no! I didn't mean it like that! Don't be embarrassed, I've done the same."

She uncovered her face and looked up at Adrien. Damn, she really felt like a cat.

"Can you do it again?" He asked, sounding a little shy.

Lady Noire took his hand and guided back to her head.

"Just keep doing what you were doing before." She mumbled lazily.

"Do you like it here?" He asked, scratching the spot that he had been petting before.

She mewled in response, closing her eyes as the sound of her purring filled the room again.

They continued like this for a while, Lady Noire getting sleepier and sleepier as time went on. Adrien was very much aware of this, so he wasn't surprised when she sat up on all fours, stretched and yawned, arching her back as she did so. Then she curled into a ball and placed her head in Adrien's lap.

"I'm going to sleep." She announced, her words slurred.

"Goodnight, ma Minette." He said, sighing and gazing tenderly at her.

She hummed in response, already halfway to Dreamland.

Adrien waited until she had been asleep for a few minutes before picking her up and carefully carrying her to bed. He tried to lower her down, but she held on to him, snuggling against his chest.

"You're too cute for your own good," Adrien whispered.

Realizing there was no way to leave without waking her, Adrien lay on the bed with Marinette wrapping herself around him. He carefully removed his ring from her hand, replacing the earing in her ears before sliding it back on his own finger.

Plagg flew out of the ring when Marinette detransformed, opening his mouth to complain, most likely. Adrien shushed him before he has the chance to start talking by placing a finger to his lips and pointing to Marinette.

"Tikki's probably in the bakery eating. If you wake Marinette or her parents, I will end you. Got it?" He whispered to Plagg.

Plagg nodded in understanding and dashed downstairs to meet his Sugarcube.

Adrien pulled the covers over him and his sleeping girlfriend, kissing the top of her head and whispering, "I love you, ma Minette."

Marinette stirred in her sleep, and Adrien worried he had woken her, but she only snuggled closer to him.

Then she muttered something that almost made his heart leap out of his chest.

"I love you, my Purr-ince."

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ Parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

#marichat may 2020 #marichatmay2020 #marichatmay #marichat may #marinette x cat noir #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug and cat noir #marichat #can I borrow your miraculous

[minetteskvareninova]

How Would I Put This For My Non-Slovak Mutuals

Slovakia is going to have elections (premature, I should note, because Matovič is an idiot, see bellow) and by God I am stressed. Our options are as follows:

Progresívne Slovensko (Progressive Slovakia) - They are the, well, progressive party of the Slovak political spectrum. Which means they are the only fucking party that supports the LGBT movement with any consistency. Most of their other proposals are also relatively reasonable; they are interested in protecting the environment, want to improve the sorry state of Slovak healthcare, fight the corruption and so on. Their only two issues are the fact that their leader, Martin Šimečka, is a fucking nerd with the charisma of a wet noodle, and the fact that everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, even people who theoretically should be on their side on account of not being bigoted Putin-loving dipshits, hates them for absolutely no reason. Well, except for their large preferences, probably. They are the most successful party, or second most successful (depends on how the elections pan out) after...

SMER - Sociálna demokracia (DIRECTION - Social Democracy; yes I know SMER is also short for something but I'm too lazy to look it up right now) - Hoo boy. These guys. How would I even start to explain the sheer amount of baggage these guys carry...? SMER has been in power in 2008-2012 and 2012-2020. And it was a fucking shitshow. Between massive corruption and widespread mismanagement of public resources, you can't help but wonder how the fuck did these people last one term, let alone three?! Don't let the Social Democracy thing in their name fool you, these people aren't really social democrats, they have no ideology beyond getting more votes and avoiding jail. Their leader is Róbert Fico, a literal antichrist whose corruption scandals would make for an exceptionally thick encyclopedia. This man is able to sell his soul to the devil for money and power, but since the devil seems kinda unavailable, he figured Putin is the next best (worst?) thing. His latest strategy for gaining more support is leaning into the fanatical Putin-loving, EU and human rights hating crowd, which in our country is depressingly large. Another memorable personality is Ľuboš Blaha, a tankie extraordinaire whose favourite meal is the sole of Volodya's boot and a steady diet of bathit conspiracies. Remember when Blaha engaged in casual atrocity denial around Bucha, because Pepperidge Farm and Minette's blog remember. https://www.tumblr.com/minetteskvareninova/680859499810177024/this-war-is-horrible-and-itself-would-be-enough

Hlas-SD (Voice-SD) - Most progressives in Slovakia have high hopes for these people. I don't. They are an offshoot of SMER, whose leader Peter Pellegrini has mostly held the line with Fico, but at least seems spineless enough to betray him if it happens to be advantageous enough. They don't really have any kind of concrete politics (most of their program is a vague "we'll make things better" kind of stuff), but at least they don't actively spread hate, so in that way they are able to climb over the low bar that is their mother party. Still, how are these people in the third place of every pre-election survey I will never know. I guess Pelle is just that sexy or whatever.

Obyčajní ľudia a nezávislé osobnosti (Ordinary People And Independent Personalities) - They have been the ruling party since 2020 and much like with SMER, it was kind of a shitshow, just in a different way. Their leader Igor Matovič is less corrupt (mind you, not NOT corrupt) than Fico, but more than makes up for it by being kinda stupid and also a horrendous drama queen whose antics prematurely ended two cabinets, his and Heger's. Tenderly nicknamed "Matelko", he became known for his "atom bombs" of ideas, such as giving out prizes in a lottery that people join by getting vaccinated. Y'know, to increase vaccination rates during the height of COVID-19 pandemic. That's why this whole thing had to be televised, complete with "call to collect your prize" type of deal. For what it's worth, he at least made attempts to fight the corruption of the previous regime; he did it badly, as is his way, but nonetheless. "Independent personalities" here means a bunch of small parties that joined them in this election, because they would have no chance otherwise. They are a pretty diverse bunch, meaning their ranks include, among others, an infamous bigot and fanatical anti-abortion activist Anna Záborská, but they also made my bae Jaroslav Naď a defence minister, so that kinda balances it out. I wouldn't hate it if they managed to get into parliament, I'll tell you that much.

Slododa a Solidarita (Freedom and Solidarity) - Considering Matelko profiles himself as an anti-corruption crusader, you'd think Róbert Fico is his nemesis. You'd be wrong. Fico unfortunately loses that prestigious title to one Richard Sulík, leader of SaS, who is... Eh? Like, he's competent in the questions of economy and in general not in the worst tier of Slovak politicians, but also, he's as much of a libertarian as is possible in our part of the world (which si to say, he's not as bad as an average American libertarian, but still engages in, for example, casual climate change denial) and constantly feuds with Matelko. Again, I don't hate him, but we could do a lot better.

Kresťanskodemokratické hnutie (Christian-Democratic Movement) - They are surprisingly not as bigoted as their name would suggest, but that's because here in Slovakia we are used to levels of homophobia and transphobia that would boggle the mind of an average non-fundie American. They come off as relatively reasonable, but only because one can't help but compare them to Putin kissasses like SMER, SNS and Republika. Which brings us to...

Slovenská národná strana (Slovak National Party) - You know, Stupidest Slovak Politician is a tough contest, so my respect to anyone who is able to win it as decisively as Andrej Danko. This man is like Róbert Fico, if his spirit animal was a sheep instead of a fox (and I say it as someone who has experience with sheep, those motherfuckers are ungodly stupid). He simped for Putin before it was cool, when that particular fanclub was just him and Blaha. He doesn't seem to be able to speak his mother tongue and his constant malaproper speech is the source of many a meme. Which, yes, means that him getting into parliament would be pretty funny. On the other hand, all that fun would probably be somewhat spoiled by the fact that he's ALSO super corrupt, not to mention, y'know, conspiracy-spreading Putin simp and bigot. He also cites Viktor Orbán as his actual, honest-to-God role model. So, an all-around cool dude that I am very happy might be in the next parliament (if Fico wins the election, because naturally these two get on like a house on fire). /s

Republika (The Republic) - I can't believe SMER legit isn't the worst mainstream Slovak party, but I mean, at least they aren't actual neonazis? I mean, Republika does its best to hide their affiliations, but because their leader, Milan Uhrík, is in competition for the second stupidest Slovak politician (the first place, as stated, firmly belonging to Danko), they don't do a particularly good job of that. I mean, Republika is the product of a schism within ĽSNS, who were already infamous for their idiocy (besides, you know, barely disguised fascism), so figures. Milan Uhrík in particular is the man whose most important contributions to Slovak culture were sitting in the European Parliament doing fuck all (did I mention that like most bigots, he also shits on EU constantly?) and the "I am not a historian" meme. Basically, because of the blatant fascist sympathies of his party, including worshipping Jozef Tiso, he was asked to condemn the crimes of the First Slovak Republic (which was basically a Nazi puppet - yeah, Ukrainians aren't the only nation in this region with a shady past, go figure; not that it prevents some people, including Uhrík himself, from spreading the "denazification" bullshit). Uhrík's answer? "I am not a historian". Since then, he has been given several options to revise this opinion. He never took any of them. His agenda is also truly something to behold, like I've never read something as profoundly dumb as the pamphlets where they present it. They don't seem to be as successful as ĽSNS, but that's unfortunately because their schtick was stolen by SMER with the good chunk of their electorate. Still, SMER might actually take them into their coalition, because like goes with the like even if the "like" is bigotry, and lest we forget, there is no God.

Sme rodina (We Are Family) - *sigh* Do I have to? Okay. Sme rodina is yet another conservative party, completely unlike EVERY OTHER PARTY THAT EVER GAINED ANY TRACTION IN THIS COUNTRY PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE. Ahem. Its leader Boris Kollár is a businessman who gained something of a memetic status in Slovak showbusiness by being a massive whore and having a fuckton of illegitimate children (the current count is I think 12?). Something of a Slovak Herschel Walker. And just like Herschel Walker, he, the avowed conservative that he is, has been accused of paying for abortions of one of his ex-girlfriends. Which is just a reflection of this guy's general moral consistency. To put it simply, Boris is the biggest Slovak whore. If Fico asked him to join his coalition, you bet your ass he would. He also has associated with people involved in organized crime (just like Fico) and sexted a fifteen year old drug addict. Because, as their billboards state, Sme rodina "protects children". Needless to say, I can't fucking stand this dude just as a person; since he seems to want to be an Isekai hero, I hope he gets hit by a truck.

Demokrati (The Democrats) - They're fine. Their leader is our former short-term prime minister Eduard Heger, whose only flaws were being hopelessly naive and letting Matelko get away with shit he should not have gotten away with. Any people that might be OK with them already vote for Progresívne Slovensko, but maybe they will get enough votes to be eligible for parliament? Maybe??? Their chances aren't high to be honest, but what do you know, miracles do happen.

#slovakia #politics #minette complains #complete and utter despair

[spooky-z]

College Françoise Dupont’s talent show [4.1/5]

• 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 4.1 • 5 • 5.1 •

I put links on Mari, Chlo and Kami's clothes because I suck in description. It has a link to the ring too.

@ozmav @maribat-archive

The big night had come.

Nervous, Damian had been sitting on the Dupain-Cheng's couch since arriving with his family.

The whole Wayne family inside the little house waiting for Marinette to finish getting ready with Chloe's help.

He already felt suffocated even though everyone was scattered around the house.

Bruce talked quietly with Tom, Sabine and Alfred looking at old family albums (Dupain-Cheng), Jason and Tim playing Mecha Strike, Dick with Kori on the couch with Damian, trying to calm down the brunette.

“Damian, calm down, man. I know how you are feeling right now, really, I've been through this. Trust me, everything will be perfect. She'll say yes.” He puts his hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There's no way Minette can refuse. That girl is crazy about you and you know it.”

"Surprisingly. For a while I thought she had a screw less." Kori adds solemnly.

"Kori..." Dick scolds.

But Damian ignored them both, as the hatch in Marinette's bedroom opened softly and Chloe came down, in a long, tight transparent dress with sapphire blue details all along (which looked like lace), a small belt of the same color to accentuate the slim waist.

Her hair was tied in a high, princess-style bun and the makeup on her face was minimal, the only highlight being the black cat eyeliner.

Damian couldn't see her feet from the dress, but he was sure she wore a heel of at least four inches.

He gets up quickly from the couch.

“Go Wayne, Tikkie is distracting her. This is your chance.” She says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, “Don't ruin things. Remember: Kami will be on the neighboring roof on the left, ready for when it's time.”

“Okay.” And he climbs the stairs quickly, barely hearing the others wishing for luck.

He passed Marinette's room, which was practically empty, not sparing a second and up the stairs leading to the bed, then up the hatch.

The sight that greeted him as he climbed up was breathtaking.

The balcony was decorated with fairy lights, the vines with blooming roses, and the clear sky, sprinkled with stars.

Marinette never lived up to the nickname angel as much as she did that night.

She was divine in a sapphire blue dress (she, Chloe and Kagami would go with the pieces she had made for her debut) of lightweight fabric (which resembled Diana's suit and the Amazon or Greek gods), her legs naked every time she moved and the top with a triangular neckline supported by a kind of belt decorated with beads, two or three shades darker than the dress.

To complement the Greek theme, she wore blue lace-up heels.

Her hair (which had grown so long it almost reached her waist) was shaped into loose curls, framing her small face. A thin golden tiara in the middle of the head.

Her makeup was a little more flashy than Chloe's. In addition to the baby blue cat eyeliner around the eyes, there was a dark cherry tone to her lips. Highlighting them.

Damian felt his mouth dry.

“Look at the time! I have to… go, Chloe is calling me!” Tikki before disappearing downstairs.

"What-Tikki!" Marinette called. She mouthed to say something more, but stopped when she noticed Damian.

“You look stunning, Marinette. Wonderful.” He says coming out of his stupor, but still frozen in place.

"You look wonderful too, Dami." She approaches, the lights making her more surreal. "I still think Chloe exaggerated a little..."

Damian finally moves, catching her halfway. His hands automatically reaching her face, stroking softly.

“So… are you going to tell me why our friends and parents have been weird lately? Something tells me you know why.” She says quietly, her face slightly tilted so she can look him in the eye. Despite her high heels, she barely reached his nose.

He placed a small kiss on her forehead before pulling back and kissing her on the lips quickly.

“Marinette, Angel. When I met you, I didn't think we could get to where we are now. Meet you, meet Ladybug, your parents, your friends... It was the best thing that ever happened in my life.” He says softly “In two years together, we had so many good, amazing, bad, worrying moments… But nothing managed to shake what we have. I'm here, I still love you, maybe even more than in the beginning and I intend to have you with me until I can no longer. I want to be by your side always. Be fighting crime or just deciding whether to eat pizza or dine out, then-” Marinette, who smiled sweetly, widened her eyes as Damian knelt before her.

“Damian what-” she choked out as he pulled a small black velvet box out of his jacket pocket.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would you give me the honor of becoming my wife?" He opened the small box showing the ring.

The ring was a pink gold, a larger diamond in the center and four smaller ones around. Marinette was in love.

“Dami! My God! Damian!” She sobbed “Of course! I do! I love you so much!!” And pulled the brunette to kiss the life out of him.

"I can't believe it... God, I love you." she says as she steps back.

“I love you too, Angel. You're my life.” He whispered. “Here, give me your right hand.”

She pulled back and reached out, her manicured nails painted in a nude tone, her heart beating so fast and hard that she could feel the pulse of blood in her ears.

Damian slid until the ring fit comfortably on the finger.

Marinette admired the ring, still not believing. She was engaged. Bride of the person she loved. She didn't know she could be any happier. Damian pulled her back in a kiss.

“Sabine, she accepted! They are kissing now! Ahh my little girl is getting married!” The two are startled by Tom's loud voice and turned in time to see Sabine pulling her husband back to Marinette's room. Tikki in his head with a dreamy smile.

The movement on the roof of the house also caught their attention.

“DAD?” Damian calls incredulously. “Tim? Wait- Why is everyone on the roof? Even Kori!” Noting that his father was not alone.

Marinette starts laughing when Bruce nods in approval and disappears into the shadows taking the four (Tim, Jason, Dick and Kori) with him.

Tsukuyomi on the next roof, also leaves leaving the two alone.

"... So I think I'll need help getting down with those heels and the dress." Marinette says breaking the moment "I may not be the clumsy 13-year-old, but I don't want to test my luck."

Damian smiles mischievously before scooping her up.

"Lucky for you I came prepared." And he jumped with her toward the limo parked in front of the bakery.

“Damian!!!”

••••••

Lila was absolutely furious. If Hawkmoth was still active, she would have been akumatized at least four times.

She still couldn't believe Adrien had the courage to reject and push her in front of everyone. In front of Dupain-Cheng.

The mayor's daughter's despicable laugh still echoing in her ears and the class's incredulous expression glued to her eyes.

She had arrived early at the theater to avoid any questioning of the idiots. She was also hiding in one of the entrance pillars watching the doors trying to catch any glimpse of Adrien.

There were few people, but the situation was changing ever closer to the school schedule.

Last night she had a plan to get the blonde to apologize for what he had done in front of everyone, thus clearing her path with the class. And if by chance the plan resulted in everyone pitying her and forcing both of them together (perhaps breaking the baker's daughter's heart) she would not complain.

Lila had dressed to impress. A long orange chiffon dress with lace at the hem and sleeves, black heels and striking makeup. Her hair was loose.

She wanted highlight and attention. She wanted Adrien at her feet. She wanted the meticcia humiliation.

So she waited.

The first person of the class to arrive was Alix with her family. Lila wrinkled her nose at the girl's ridiculous outfit.

Who would go to an event at a prestigious venue wearing denim shorts and Jagged t-shirt?

The others were arriving not long after. No one at Alix level, but not as neat as Lila. This until Adrien appears.

The lobby was crowded with students, family, and guests, but she was still able to see him enter. His bodyguard right behind.

Even wearing a simple button-down shirt, dress pants, and polished black shoes, he could still stand out from the crowd.

Lila almost ran from her hiding place to reach him, but stopped when she saw Alya and Nino pull the blonde to talk in a far corner. Their parents and brothers right behind with the bodyguard.

"Shit."

Now she would have to wait until the last second and make a triumphant entry.

••••••

Ms. Bustier's class had found a way to meet among so many people.

The conversation went well, but a tense mood hung over them. No one brave enough to go after Adrien asking what had happened onstage the night before. No one had seen Lila yet and everyone wondered if she would still show up after the embarrassment.

All calm until it was not.

The people closest to the entrance were in a frenzy. The barely muffled whispers, some pointing, others shocked. Everyone moving closer to the doors to see whatever it was.

The class looked at each other confused trying to understand what was going on.

Kim and Ivan, the tallest in the class, followed by Adrien, tiptoed up to see the reason for the confusion, but unfortunately failed to get a good look.

Alya, who could never keep her curiosity in check, patted Kim on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Get me up. So I see and say what's going on.” She says “We won't be able to get through this crowd or see from here. ”

“Okay, I'll give you a boost and you sit on my shoulders.” He replies.

"Be careful, Aly!" Ms. Cesárie asks.

“I'm always careful, Mom!” And there was a general roll of eyes. “Now let me see wha- MY GOD THAT'S BRUCE WAYNE?!” She shouts.

Alix gives a shaken jump. “Bruce Wayne? Like Bruce Wayne? The tech mogul? This Bruce Wayne?”

"Of course! Is there another Bruce Wayne that I don't know?” Alya snapped angrily “Wait... Is that in Bruce Wayne's arms--- MARINETTE!?” She almost falls off Kim's shoulders in shock, but the boy is quick to hold her.

“Marinette?” Lila says, appearing out of nowhere beside Adrien who was still as confused as the class.

Max looks at the frowning newcomer "Why are you so..." he rethinks the word. “Dressed?” Lila might be the best girl in the world, but he couldn't help noticing that she dressed very badly. Very tacky.

She looks at him, eyebrow raised, not even trying the innocent facade, but looks back at Ladyblogger for an answer.

“Oh my god, it's true! It's Bruce Wayne with Marinette.” Alix exclaims sitting on Ivan's shoulders. “Man, I didn't know Mari was so hot.” She whistles in appreciation.

“Alix!” Rose, Nino, Adrien and Nathaniel exclaim in horror.

"What? It's true!” She replies “You should see this! Let’s go! Put me down, Ivan! We will open the Red Sea.”

The boy did as she asked, Alya who was still frozen on Kim's shoulders was poked by Nino. “Aly, let's go. Alix will try to get us there.”

She gets scared but goes down numb.

This was not the Marinette she knew.

"OK! There we go.” Alix says “Sorry! Oops It was bad!” As she pushed people out of the way, the class right behind her.

Lila and Adrien also following the rest. One out of curiosity and one... Well, Lila didn't know what else she was feeling right now except hatred and contempt.

"... And we arrived!" The girl says, her cheeks pink with the effort.

"Oh my god!" They gasp as they understand Alya's shock. And we are not talking about Bruce Wayne. By the way, it was really him.

No. The disbelief had a first and last name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“Marinette…?” Adrien called, not believing his eyes.

And she, who was talking to Bruce, turned in surprise for the class. Her eyes firmed only briefly at Adrien, before turning to another person entering the hall.

He was a tall man, black-haired, well built, dressed in a black suit from head to toe, the suit obviously designer. Short hair combed and styled to the side. Green and cold eyes. His hands automatically going to Dupain-Cheng's waist as if it were normal and routine between them.

The class seemed even more surprised.

“Dad, Jason is trying to kill Tim and Dick in the car.” His voice coming out cold. “Angel, your parents were kidnapped by Jagged. Something about a tour.” Adrien notices the change in tone as he talks to the girl, the way his eyes soften and the corner of his lips curves slightly.

Bruce Wayne also seems to notice the change in behavior because he says nothing before leaving to solve the said problem.

“Is Jagged here? He didn't even warn me he was coming.” Marinette says ignoring the eyes poking holes in her head.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. I forgot-"

“Of course he forgot. That wasn't because he wanted to see you freaking out.” Kagami, who was arriving with Chloe in tow, says sarcastically. "Hello Damian, Mari." She nods.

The brunette wore an all-black suit, gold trim at the edges and sides. The jacket fully open at the front, closed just enough to cover the breasts. Her hair was artfully styled in a mess and there was a ruby lipstick on her lips.

“Kami!” Marinette jumped toward the girl. “I missed you today. Chloe used me like a doll all day. ”

“I've been busy getting everything ready.” She responds “By the way, congratulations. To both.” She adds.

"Thanks," Damian replies simply.

“Where, let me see this diamond!” Chloe pulls the brunette's hand evaluating the ring. “Wow, I didn't think Wayne would have good eyes for jewelry. Good choice.” She winks at Damian and releases the brunette's hand.

“I think it was exaggerated. It's beautiful, I loved it, but if it was a little less flashy…” Marinette doesn't finish, but the others understand what she means.

“Only the best for you, Angel.” Damian caresses her hand, then bends to kiss the ring.

Bruce returns with four other people, three men and one woman. The eldest of the three immediately jumped up to Marinette excitedly.

“What did you think of the ring, Minette?” He asks. “Damian was so concerned about not getting the proper engagement ring. You had to see it! All red and boring. He looked eleven years old again.”

What? Who were those people? Why did Marinette, Kagami and Chloe know them? And the guy who would not let go of Marinette? And Minette? Wait. Engagement Ring?

“MARINETTE GOING TO MARRY?!” Rose screams.

And the group finally looks at the class, noticing them. In Marinette's case, seeming to remember that they were there.

"Wait! Who is this guy, Marinette?! Why did I never knew you were dating someone?!" Alya sputters possessed.

Damian, already annoyed by the ladyblogger, pulls Marinette close to his family and stands in front, staring directly and coldly at the class.

"And who are you?"

“II am Ma-marinette's best friend! Alya!” She fumbles at the words.

Damian smiles humorlessly “Oh really? Interesting.” He says “Marinette and I have been together for two years and I've never heard of any Alya.”

Alya seemed to have been slapped at his words and shut up quickly, with nothing to talk about.

"You never answered the question." Lila says, taking the lead in the group. Damian raised an eyebrow in question, "Who are you?"

“Me?” His smile turns sour. “I'm Damian Wayne, fiancé of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one who won't think twice about crushing you if you try anything else against her… Lila Aloisi Rossi.”

[tag list]

@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna @iglowinggemma28 @crazylittlemunchkin @lunaraquaenby @maude-zarella @mooshoon @kuroko26 @littleredrobinhoodlum @fanboy7794 @shadowberrybinch @k-rena-k @captainmac6 @clumsy-owl-4178  @tazanna-blythe @vixen-uchiha @zebrabaker @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @artxyra @ellerahs

#maribat #damian x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #damian #daminette #ml salt #talent show au

[thenovelartist]

Kitty’s Key, set 4

<Previous  Next> 10. Victorian AU

“What are you making there, princess?”

Marinette sighed. “Remind me, why do I still let you in my room if the contest has been over for two weeks now?”

He smirked at her from his place lounging on the chaise. “Because you love me.”

“Love is a strong word, Chat.”

“Well, that’s the only explanation you leave your hatch open.”

He had her there.

“So, what are you making?”

“A costume piece,” Marinette said. “There’s an online contest hosted by a big-name theater director and so I entered. It was open to everyone, but there were different categories. I’m in the student category.”

“You should have gone for the professional.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, you could have,” Chat said, “But too late now, I guess. Anyway, you still haven’t answered what that pretty pink thing is on your mannequin.”

She sighed. “It’s a Victorian Era dress.”

“Oh?”

“For a princess.”

Chat smirked. “So, does it get to be worn by a princess?”

“What do you think?” she deadpanned.

“So you’re not gonna wear it?”

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. His smirk widened as he waggled his eyebrows. “You’d look stunning in it, princess.”

At that, Marinette blushed red and turned her back to him. “Stupid cat.”

He chuckled. “By the way, princess,” he purred. “You never did tell me why you didn’t confess to prince charming.”

Marinette froze.

“Because I heard from him that the date went really well,” Chat pressed.

“It did,” she admitted. That was the truth. She didn’t stutter too much and managed to keep her composure most of the night. Adrien looked as handsome as ever. And she was going to confess.

Until he dropped a cat pun.

He looked at her with this dorky grin and she knew… knew her heart was no longer settled on him. It was torn between him,

And a stupid superhero in black leather.

 11. Mask Ball

For the life of him, he was determined to get the answer. She’d shut him down time and time again and now Adrien had had enough. He was going to find out once and for all why Marinette never admitted her crush.

“Chat,” she whined, looking at him from her skylight. “It’s late.”

“It’s nine. Tell me you aren’t usually up way later than that.”

She just glared at him.

“So,” he said. “I have a proposition.”

“A proposition?” she deadpanned.

“Yup,” he said with a smirk. “You are going to put on that dress you’ve been working on for the past week. And then I’m going to take you out dancing.”

She did not look amused.

Which… he expected, if he was honest. “And what I’m going to do is take pictures of you to submit—”

“No,” she quickly said. “It looks fine on the mannequin.”

“But mannequins don’t show how things move,” he argued.

She opened her mouth to argue but slowly shut it.

“Come on, princess,” he said, knowing he was close to winning.

She stared at him a moment longer. “It’s nighttime.”

“I know a place with killer lighting.”

“At nighttime,” she asked, skeptically.

“Yup.” It wasn’t like he’d just spent the last hour hauling mass amounts of lighting equipment up to an empty rooftop.

She pursed her lips.

His grin widened.

“If you’re lying,” she said. “I am never letting you in again.”

“Good thing I’m not lying.”

With a sigh, Marinette began ducking back down to her room. “No peeking!” she warned, right before the hatch slammed shut.

He would say he wouldn’t dream of it…

But…

He’d fallen for a really beautiful woman. Maybe one day he wouldn’t demand such self-control. You know, after rings and vows were exchanged.

Would she be okay if he wore a white suit? Maybe at a beach wedding? He loved the thought of a beach wedding. Sometime in the summer. She was probably more of a spring bride, but would she be okay with a summer wedding? And if he could convince her to have it at the beach, he’d definitely want to wear a white suit. Because he loved black and could pull it off, but there was something about a white suit—

“Okay.”

Chat startled at her voice and turned around—

Only for all the air to leave his lungs.

She shrugged, a dusting of pink covering her cheeks. “I… need help lacing up the back.”

He cleared his throat, hoping his ability to speak returned. “Of course, Marinette.”

He was going to die. A woman with a cute little blush was not allowed to ask him to lace up the back of a soft pink dress that highlighted her skin tone perfectly and expect Chat to survive. But, he was a professional. He could swallow his discomfort.

Of course, all the skin at her neckline being exposed as it was made things really difficult. Why? Because he really wanted to put his lips to her perfectly soft skin right at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Why now? All of a sudden.

His guess was as good as any.

Mind barely functioning, he was able to pull the laces tight to her form, one that seemed smaller than usual. “Done.”

She took a step to reach the gloves he didn’t remember her setting on her patio chair, then slid them up her arms to just past her elbows. Now, clothed in the full ensemble, she spun for him. “Well, what do you think?”

He thought he was going to keel over any second because hot damn, Marinette could pull off Victorian Era well. But he just couldn’t help but notice the way her waist was cinched in, and the way her breasts were rounded above the lower neckline of the dress … “You’re in a corset, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, tossing her head up to the sky in irritation. “And it’s not comfortable but it’s period accurate. How could you tell?”

He would take that reason to his grave. “Just a guess. Now, are you ready princess?”

She opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut as her eyes got wide. “No,” she whined. “I forgot the mask.”

“You made a mask?”

She nodded. “And it’s on my desk, but do you know how hard it is to move around in this thing?”

“I got it,” Chat said with a smile. “Be back up in a second.”

He slipped down into her room without any struggle and easily found the mask she was talking about. One that was as pink as her dress decorated with a ribbon and large, white feather.

However, considering he didn’t sneeze once on the way back up to her, it had to be synthetic. Thankfully.

When he got back up to the balcony, she wasn’t paying attention and instead looking out into the Parisian night. So, he decided to surprise her, coming up behind her and putting the mask over her eyes.

She gasped but quickly settled, letting him tie the mask off behind her head. “Is that too tight?”

“No,” she said, her voice whispery.

“Then, shall we go, princess?”

She gave him a smile that was going to knock him to his knees if he wasn’t careful. She looked like she was about to walk into a masquerade, and he wanted nothing more than to be the one escorting her. “We shall.”

…

Chat had an entire studio set up for her.

“How the heck did you get all this up here? No. How did you get any of this, period? This is high quality stuff.”

“My secret, princess.” With that, he pulled up a camera and snapped a photo before she was ready. “However,” he said, lowering the camera to reveal a smug smirk, “I’d happily divulge if a certain someone tells me why she didn’t confess to Adrien.”

She frowned, her cheeks heating up.

He smirked. “A secret for a secret,” he sang-songed before taking another picture of her.

“Chat, let me, like, pose or something.”

“Ah, but I’m here to capture your candid beauty,” he purred.

She snorted. “Stop it!”

“Never!”

It took a while for them to calm down and become serious, but eventually, Chat began actually posing her.

“Now, look in that direction, and stand confidently. Channel your inner Ladybug.”

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Oh, if he only knew. “My inner Ladybug?”

“Exude confidence, Ma Minette.”

She whipped her head back towards him, her heart full out missing a beat at the nickname. “T-that’s new,” she stuttered.

Chat looked like that cat that got the cream. “I like it. I’m using it.”

She really didn’t know how to respond.

Eventually, Chat claimed he had enough pictures. “We’ll put them on your computer and you can see how much you like them all.”

“Hopefully, you’re half as good a photographer as you are a director.”

“Trust me, Ma Minette,” he said with a wink and making her heart miss another beat. “I know my way around a camera.”

She shook her head. “Well, it was all very kind of you, Chat. Do you need any help cleaning up?”

“Oh? You think the night is over?”

Marinette quirked her head at that. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t think I’m going to let you go without dancing with you, do you? You look like you could be the belle of a ball. I’ve already stolen you away and can do what I want with you. And I want a dance.”

Be still her heart. What on earth happened to her dork of a partner because there was a very suave young man in skin-tight black leather standing before her, words as sweet as honey falling off his tongue. “W-well,” she stuttered. “I… I suppose you can have once dance.”

His smile was wide and sweet and happy. Oh, so happy. She loved that grin and the soft look in his eyes that joy caused. “One is all I ask for.”

 12. Post-Reveal (actually, more of a ‘Reveal’ instead of ‘Post-Reveal, but you guys aren’t gonna complain. XD)

There was soft music playing from a speaker he’d brought with him. He’d selected the song carefully, having mulled it over all day. Now, she was in his arms, swaying to the slow melody.

He had to assure her that they didn’t have to waltz. She’d been adamant on her inability to dance even though he knew it was a lie. However, he much preferred the closeness of simply being together, swaying to the music.

She’d taken off her mask halfway through the photoshoot, allowing him now to see her face clearly. Once again, he was struck by just how beautiful of a woman she was, and how lucky he was that she was in love with him.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you never told Adrien you had a crush on him?”

She groaned. “Why are you so persistent?”

“Because you had the perfect opportunity to tell the love of your life that you had a crush on him, but you didn’t. Why? I’m very confused. I set it up for you and everything.”

She sighed, remaining silent for several notes before speaking. “I was scared.”

“You chickened out? Really?”

“Yes… and no,” she said. “Not… like that.”

“You are making no sense,” he said, feeling more lost than ever.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” she whined. “Because I love Adrien. He’s just… so amazing. But when he—” She abruptly stopped.

Chat stopped dancing, taking a step back so he could see her face. Her lip was between her teeth and she looked downright embarrassed.

“But then,” she continued. “I was reminded of… of another guy. One I swore I wouldn’t fall for… and… I don’t know. Kinda… fell for a little anyway.”

Adrien’s heart clenched. What was his luck that he had to fall for two girls who were in love with other men better than him? He pretended his heart wasn’t being crushed into pieces. “And… you didn’t tell Adrien… because there’s another guy.”

She looked at him, her eyes locking on his. Next thing he knew, she was tearing up.

“Princess.” He quickly pulled her into his arms, cocooning her against his chest and rubbing her back. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m so confused,” she said between the tears.

He was, too. Mostly because he was struggling to weed through what the selfish part of him wanted to say and what the logical thing to say was. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Marinette.”

“No, it’s not,” she whined.

He sighed but continued rubbing her back while she choked out a few tears.

“Listen,” he said, once she’d stopped crying and he’d had a moment to collect his thoughts. “I know it’s hard, but you should make a choice and go for it. It sounds like this new guy caught you off guard.”

“He did,” she said. “We were supposed to be just friends.”

“But you fell for him anyway?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “And the worst part,” she continued, “is that I know he loves me. He’s said so for years, and I’ve just kept brushing him off because we’re friends and that’s all, and now I have the chance to be with the guy I’ve crushed on for years, and I can’t help it but think of him.”

Well, crap. Adrien really didn’t stand a chance now, did he?

“Then you should go to that guy,” Chat said, even though his heart was breaking up at the prospect of loosing both girls he’d ever fallen for. What crappy luck. “And tell him. From the sounds of it, if he’d been confessing for a while, the guy will probably fly to the moon and back on happiness.”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes and smearing the little make-up she had on. “I’m nervous to, though.”

“Why?” Chat challenged. “You have a guy who you know loves you and won’t reject you waiting for you to return his affections. All you have to do is say ‘hey, I actually like you, too’ and boom! Done. Easy as cake. You don’t have to face any rejection like you would have with Adrien with you sticking your neck out on the line. He did the hard part, and now you just have to press the big, fat ‘accept’ button and you’re golden. You’re the luckiest fricking girl on the planet.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with something.

And that was the moment he realized he was getting a little too passionate. He took a breath to steady himself. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I… was—”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It… it sounds like… like I hit a nerve with that.”

He took a breath. “Maybe a little,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She wrapped her arms up over his shoulders. “Don’t be,” she assured. “You have every right to be angry about that.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “As much as I want to. She has the right to fall in love with who she wants to. And if she doesn’t want me… then honestly good for her.”

Her grip tightened. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m obviously an unlucky cat,” he said. “I trust that she would find a fantastic guy, and if she sees him more as marriage material than me, then good for her.”

“That’s not true, mon minou, don’t you dare—”

And that’s when each of them froze. Marinette went rigid in his arms, but Chat…

Chat’s heart was racing a mile a minute.

No. No way. No. It’s coincidence she called me Mon Minou. No. She can’t be. I’m not that lucky. I’m not…

“My Lady?”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marichat may 2019 #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #fluff #budding romance

[pcntmercys]

Brickclub 3.5.2-3.6.3

3.5.2 - 21/04/20

Another Budget Chapter™. I actually find these... relaxing?

Marius is still poor, but less poor than he was in the last chapter, and has moved from Courfeyrac’s rooms to his own in the Gorbeau house.

Hugo gives us Marius’ thoughts on debts, both relating to the monetary kind and the Saving Your Father kind. 

3.5.3 - 22/04/20

The way Marius’ poverty is treated is off-putting in the context of the rest of the book. Most of the characters we spend a lot of time with are poor for at least some of their life, if not all of it, and Marius is no exception. However, with every other character*, we are seen how harmful and difficult to escape poverty is: JVJ spends years of his life in prison because he had to steal to feed his family. Fantine fights to sustain herself so she can support her child, and it ultimately leads to her death. The Patron-Minette is full of characters who mirror others in the book who have had a more wealthy life than them. It practically shoves in your face that they may have become better people if they had been wealthy and had the opportunities the characters they mimic had. 

But with Marius it’s supposed to make him a more well-rounded person? Teach him not to take things for granted? Give him a work ethic? It doesn’t feel genuine. Hugo spends the whole book drilling in how destructive poverty is on an emotional and familial level, as well as to society as a whole, and then sort of... throws it away with how he treats Marius’ lack of money. It definitely weakens the point he’s been making the whole time.

*excluding Bishop Myriel, but the relative poverty he lives in is voluntary, and if he decided he didn’t want to be poor anymore he could just... do it.

3.5.4 - 23/04/20

We meet Mabeuf!!!

3.5.5 - 24/04/20

Marius’ life seems to have settled down, so now he spends most of his time wandering through Paris and making other people nervous. He’s doing better financially now, and pays his neighbor's (the “Jondrette’s”) rent, just because he thinks it’s the nice thing to do.

3.5.6 - 25/04/20

Théodule visits M. Gillenormand, who complains about republicanism and The Youth™, as usual.

3.6.1 - 26/04/2020

Hugo describes Marius’ appearance to us, most notably his “well-opened and passionate nostrils”. Marius unaware that he is Sexy, I guess, because girls in the street turn to stare at him, and he thinks it’s because of his old clothes. Courfeyrac calls him “Monsieur l’Abbé” because he doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the girls who clearly are interested in him. This is also the first time we hear of Marius seeing Cosette and Not-JVJ ( or M Leblanc and Mlle Lanoire.)

Cosette is described as a little girl in this chapter, and then is weirdly sexualised in the next chapter, so that’s... fun.

3.6.2 - 27/04/2020

It has been 6 months since the last chapter, and in that time Cosette has supposedly grown from a little girl into a young woman. I’m not exactly sure how old Cosette is supposed to be right now (last chapter said 13 or 14, but I’m not sure if that’s her actual age or just how she appears), so the weird focus on her beauty and how she looks So Much Older Now rubs me the wrong way. Especially considering the fact that she retains her childlike eyes. Ew?

3.6.3 - 28/04/2020

Cosette now has woman’s eyes, I guess. 

Marius starts wearing his special occasion clothes to the garden, because he is now in love with Cosette and wants to be presentable.

#txt #les miserables #brickclub

[madamehenriette]

.

#someone complaining about minette in the tags. #r we watching the same show? #outoflight

[songbird-musing]

Virtuoso: Chapter Two - Recitative

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy's brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician's Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras' "vibe," whatever that means.

Enjolras tries to tackle his pop-song-nightmare, and enlists the help of Grantaire.

Chapter One

Recitative 

The world exploded around Enjolras as he awoke. Combeferre was in the kitchen, coffees in hand grinning widely beside the ‘Morning Gong.’

“Why do I let you keep that godforsaken gong?” Enjolras complained, the imprint of computer keys ridged in his cheeks. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen counter with the machine a stand-in, whirring pillow.

“Morning, sunshine!” Combeferre said brightly, and Enjolras cursed himself for ending up with morning people for roommates. “Any sign of Courf?”

“Negative,” Enjolras yawned, “I think he went to an after-party last night, he could literally be anywhere. He might not even be in Paris.”

“He’s probably not even still in France,” Combeferre laughed, placing a mug beside Enjolras. “I will never understand how he can still party like a first year... When did you get back?”

“About one,” Enjolras stretched out and brought his computer to life, tapping impatiently on the mouse pad, “I was working on the pop nightmare until about five, though.”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten about your pop dilemma... How my day has been brightened!” Combeferre beamed, coiling himself around his mug. “I’m heading off soon, so if you’re ready in twenty minutes we can walk together...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras said, still not fully awoken. He yawned widely, noticing that it was already ten past eight and hurried to shower away the scents of the previous night.

It was an overcast day, grey skies neatly connecting to the grey Parisian pavement. Combeferre and Enjolras walked side by side, an impressive array of instruments strapped to them.

“Okay, but how about...” Combeferre interjected, swerving the topic of their heated morning debate, “How about you could either write an utterly commercial pop song that goes immensely successful, and your name is forever linked, so, like, everyone in the world will be like ‘Oh Enjolras? That guy who wrote that pop song?’” he put on a silly voice, crossing his eyes underneath his glasses, “Or you write a crazily successful classical piece that changes the world of classical music forever but nobody ever knows who wrote it and it goes down as a musical mystery forever. Which would you rather have?”

“Can I not just tell everyone I wrote it?” Enjolras asked, scrolling through his phone and nearly colliding with a lamppost.

“Uh... No,” Combeferre confirmed, “You tragically die and nobody knows who you were.”

“Wait... am I dead in both situations?”

“No.” Combeferre pondered, “Actually, scratch that, you’re not dead, you just can’t tell anyone you wrote it.”

“Well obviously the classical one,” Enjolras said flatly.

“Authenticity over fame... I could have guessed,” Combeferre said, not bothering to conceal a yawn. They were just going through the motions. Often they filled the space of morning silence with pointless conversations to wake their brains. “Okay so the situation is the same but with the pop one you also do loads of classical as well, but when all of your millions of fans come to your concert they just want to hear your top hit.”

“I’ll take that, then. An audience of millions is better than none, besides I’m sure I could change their mind.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh,” Enjolras stretched out his neck and they fell into silence. Enjolras’ mind drifted to the pop song he had been working on. The piece sounded spiky – filled with diminished and augmented chords – in short, it sounded nothing like a pop song.

Pop music, to Enjolras, was foreign – but not cross-the-border-to-Germany foreign, it was more of a outside-of-our-known-galaxy foreign. He had hurried past shop fronts that blared warbling voices and fuzzy synths, as if the sound was shameful. His parents raised him on a strict diet of music composed before the 1900’s. Even his more rebellious high school friends viewed pop music warily – that was private schooling for you. Now, at Paris’ highest esteemed classical university – pop was an insult.

“I hate pop music,” Enjolras grumbled, heaving an almighty sigh. “It’s inane.”

“That’s the point,” Combeferre poked.

They bid their farewells at the gates of Saint-Michel’s and headed to their separate classes.

Enjolras weaved through the crowds, dodging instrument cases, almost receiving a trumpet to the forehead. He stopped. The throng of people behind him huffed and split around him, as he hopped back down the stairs and turned to the smoker’s area. In his first year he had held an enormous campaign to turn the area into a community garden.

“Instrumentalists should never smoke,” he had argued to the board, “It’s counterproductive to breath support. If you’re training the next generation of musicians – they shouldn’t be given the resources to destroy their lungs.”

His fury had been met with blank stares, and Enjolras had avoided the area out of principle. In the morning glow, the pavestones glistened, the ivy was burnished gold. It still looked like the perfect place for a community garden.  Enjolras had to force himself to stop mentally planting sunflowers.

Tucked in the corner, Enjolras found whom he was searching for... he also found Courfeyrac.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac were sat on the wall, chatting too animatedly for nine in the morning. Grantaire, dressed in dark green, blended into the ivy, looked as though he had been stolen from the middle of a woodland nymph painting. He turned, catching Enjolras’ eye, and beamed – Enjolras wondered what Grantaire saw as he stood there.

“Enj!” Courf said, reaching out a hand.

“Please don’t touch me, you’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days.” Enjolras commented, a grin playing on his face, “Courf, our flat is literally ten minutes away, just grab some spare clothes!”

“No, you’re right, it is so gross. I am definitely coming back tonight, though. I just couldn’t give up on the chance to go to an after-party... Especially not a Patron-Minette one, those guys are absolutely mental. Montparnasse tried to get off with me, but I think I offended him when I said he reminded me of Arthur.”

“Why? The young Arthur was a dreamboat,” Enjolras said.

There was a very long pause.

“What?” Courfeyrac spluttered.

“Arthur Rubinstein was really hot in his youth,” Enjolras eyed Courf with suspicion.

“On what planet was I talking about Arthur Rubinstein? What is he? A pianist?”  

“Yeah...” Enjolras squinted, “Which Arthur are you talking about?”

“The aardvark thing.”

Enjolras looked blank and Grantaire started to sing the theme tune. Enjolras could only blink in response.

“I’m so confused,” Enjolras said, “Montparnasse looks nothing like an aardvark.”

“Yeah... I coulda been hallucinating pretty badly,” Courf said and hopped to his feet, “Are you coming, Enj? Fantine won’t like it if you’re late...” he tried to put on an intimidating voice, but by third year lateness seemed wholly inconsequential to everyone, even the professors.

“I’ll be there in a second; I just wanted to have a quick chat with Grantaire about the pop thing.”

Courfeyrac cackled in response. “Good luck,” he kissed both Enjolras and Grantaire on the cheek, and wandered inside the building, scuffing his cigarette out beneath his shoe.

Grantaire squinted against the sun. “How’d you enjoy Patron-Minette?”

“I liked them a lot more than I thought I would,” Enjolras said without thinking, he turned red. “I didn’t mean that I... It’s just, pop isn’t really my thing.”

“Éponine doesn’t like the word pop. It’s psychedelic, contemplative, indie, punky folk, darling.”

“Well, then I guess I am a fan of psychedelic, contemplative, indie, whatever else it is,” Enjolras said lightly, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Sorry to ambush you, and feel free to say no...”

“I love a good ambush, sometimes,” Grantaire laughed, “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, Prouvaire said you were doing this pop project, and my teacher is forcing me to write a pop song, and I have absolutely no idea what to do, and it’s all a bit of a disaster, and I was wondering if you wanted to collaborate?” Enjolras blurted, taking an embarrassingly large gasp for breath at the end of his ramble.

“Yeah, sure, sounds cool.” Grantaire scribbled a number on the back of a receipt and held it out, “Here’s my number, text me when’s best for you... Or you could Facebook me, I’m sure there aren’t many ‘Grantaires’ on there, it won’t be too hard to find me.”

“Oh, brilliant! Thank you!” Grantaire seemed like he would have needed more convincing than that. Enjolras pocketed the receipt.

“Do you have a setup at your flat?”

“Um,” Enjolras faltered, “I have a couple of leads and a microphone... And about three-quarters of an orchestra.”

“Huh,” Grantaire shielded his eyes from the sun to look at Enjolras, “Not really helpful for pop... you can come to mine, I have everything there for the Patron-Minette recording and stuff. I’ll text you my address when you text me.” He tilted his head and laughed wolfishly, “I can’t imagine you at the flat... It will be interesting.” He grinned, “Let me know,” and sauntered away before Enjolras could say another word.

Performance class called for Enjolras to sit at the front. His arms cradled around the cool wooden curves of his cello. He bowed his head, pulled his bow taut, and felt his fingers fall into a familiar position, strings indenting his callused fingers. The whole classroom inhaled together, and Enjolras felt electric. His eyes fell shut, and instinct tugged at his muscles, creating the smooth, elegant dance around the instrument. The song was a duet between his body and the cellos. It was as intimate and in tune as a lovers waltz. Moments like this, lost in lines of manuscript and drowning in notes, that time ceased to exist. Enjolras felt like he did not exhale until the piece resolved, its final cadence dousing the room. The sweet, warm oasis of music cascaded as the class applauded.

Enjolras breathed raggedly against the neck of his cello, daring a smile at his classmates.

Fantine stood, roses in her cheeks. “Simply delightful!” she beamed, “Will you perform the piece at the concert next Friday? I know you’re incredibly busy, but we’re missing a cello solo...”

Enjolras pencilled it into his diary, trying to ignore the vaguely frustrated glances from the rest of the class.

Courfeyrac’s flute solo went down well, and he flushed with pride. Enjolras grinned at him genuinely, wondering how he had managed to compose such a lovely piece when he hadn’t even had time to return home.

“I feel like you need an accompanist,” Fantine said brightly, “It’s very sweet, but I think it needs a bit more depth... Do you know Combeferre?”

Enjolras and Courfeyrac shared a grin.

“You could say that, Fantine...”

“Ask him to accompany you. He’s very good at that.” She clapped her hands together without waiting for an answer, “Marius, what do you have for us today?”  

~*~

Once Enjolras had sent the text to Grantaire, his fingers couldn’t stay still. They traced over the table in triplet rhythms, danced over invisible keys, tensed as the pulse of music within him swelled.

A message returned in minutes and Enjolras dragged his eyes from Courfeyrac’s antics to read it.

I finish at 4 today, could do something after that if you’re free –R x

He sent back an affirmative and planned to meet the almost-stranger outside the school gates later that afternoon.

Combeferre was astutely trying not to laugh, cheeks molten with joy, as Jehan and Courf tested their ranges.

“My whistle pitch is literally the best. I’m probably the best in the school,” Courf said, emitting a high-pitched scream. “Maybe the world.”

“That is so not whistle pitch,” Jehan said, snorting loudly.

“Yeah it is,” Courfeyrac shrieked again and the table of four collapsed into all encompassing laughter. Through delight-tinted eyes, Enjolras remembered again how much he adored his friends.

~*~

“Hey,” Grantaire said, stamping out a cigarette under his boot heel. He noticed Enjolras’ lingering gaze on the smouldering stub and said, “Nasty habit, I know. Especially when you’re a singer,” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“You sing?” Enjolras said, carefully arranging his face into a passive, non-judgemental mask. To Courfeyrac and Jehan he often lamented the early loss of their vocal ability and breath control that promised to swoop in with every cigarette and joint they smoked.

“I do,” Grantaire said with a grin, “I also play guitar, bass, keyboard, a little bit of drums and whatever else I can get my hands on.”

“Sounds...” Enjolras floundered, “Pretty pop-based.” He grimaced. Compliments had never been a strong point of his.

“That’s why I’m the man for your job, right?” He smiled, looking like he had been rendered on a canvas, all wilderness and Dionysian thrill.  “What do you play? Harp?”

“Why does everyone say that?” Enjolras enquired.

“Am I wrong?” Grantaire directed them down the stairs to the Metro station.

“No.”

“You’re such a harpist... everything about you screams it. How many times have you been forced to wear angel wings, a halo and a toga at weddings?”

Enjolras shuddered. “Way too many times,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh.

“That’s what I want at my wedding.” Grantaire said, hopping down the escalators carelessly, “Apollo the harpist, golden everything, even gold suits, the priest dressed as a cherub...” He dashed onto the train and held the beeping door open for Enjolras.

“Really?”

“No,” Grantaire grinned, “Couldn’t imagine anything worse... Sorry!” He careened into Enjolras as the train started and apologised again, pointing out the short route to his place on the map.

“I do not know what it will be like in here, so beware, in advance,” Grantaire said ominously, turning the key in his lock and giving Enjolras a warning stare. “Hello?” he called, cracking open the door by an inch. Silence poured around them. “They must be out. Welcome to Chez Patron-Minette.”

“You live with the band?”

“I’m supposed to just live with Ép and Montparnasse, but yes, I basically live with them all,” he paused and flicked the lights on, looking around disdainfully, “The other three unofficially moved in without really consulting me.”

“How awful!”

“Nah, it’s fine. I have the biggest room, anyway.” Grantaire smiled, a sheen of politeness glazing his eyes, “Drink?”

“Um, I’ll have water, please,” Enjolras said, trailing one hand on the kitchen counter.

Grantaire looked up from the fridge, a spark of mischief playing in his eyes. “We’re living the rock star life tonight,” he said, “Cheers to that!”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was being made fun of.

“Sorry it’s a mess, I didn’t realise this was happening, of course.” Grantaire chucked a few items of clothing around and surreptitiously shoved an armful of cans into his bin. “Afterparty...” he said as a way of explanation.  “So...my friend...” he grinned into his cup of water, “I am fully at your service, what can I do for you?” he did a silly bow, dark hair bouncing around his shoulders.

“Valjean is making me write a pop song and I have no idea what to do,”

“Harps don’t usually translate well to pop, no.”

“I can play other instruments, as well,” he was quick to confirm, as if Grantaire would care in the slightest about his pedigree of musicianship, “But only classically.”

“Have you made a start with anything?” Grantaire asked, flexing his fingers around the neck of his guitar.

“I...” Enjolras grimaced, “I have... But... it’s not... well, listen for yourself.”

He plucked his phone from his pocket, searching for the audio file. It took two chords for Grantaire’s forehead to crease. It took just three more before his lips pursed, a laugh ill-hidden behind them.

“I know!” Enjolras protested, hastily muting the piece. “It’s terrible!”

“It isn’t terrible...” Grantaire rubbed the bridge of his nose and coughed, “It’s just not pop... like, at all...” A laugh bubbled out from his hand. “Sorry! It’s a lovely piece... but did you modulate twice in one bar?”

Enjolras looked sheepish. “Sort of.”

Grantaire laughed, throwing a palm to his forehead. “Oh, bless you. This is going to be harder than I thought. Let’s start again, and let’s start simple,” Grantaire said, his words not what Enjolras wanted to hear. “So we’ll do a four chord song, okay?”

Enjolras paled.

Enjolras hunched over the keyboard, fingers splayed on smaller keys than he was used to, Grantaire nimbly tuned up his guitar, strumming once when he was finished and letting the discord rattle around them.

Inner pianist screaming, Enjolras stilled and offered, “Does it have to be four chords? I mean we could add some embellishments, a modulation here and there, and still have it be pop, right?”

“Nope, pop thrives on simplicity...”

“But there are exceptions...”

“Yes, and they are known for being exceptions. You wanted straight up pop, so we’re using four chords,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“But...”

“I could make us do a three chord song, if you wanted?” Grantaire laughed as Enjolras drooped, “Come on, Enjolras, let me lead you to the wild side.”

The pair looped four chords over and over, Grantaire humming a melody over the top. Enjolras’ eyes glazed over.

“What do you want to sing about?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t sing,” Enjolras snapped out of his stupor, much closer to Grantaire than he thought he had been.

“Well what do you want me to sing about, then?” Grantaire slid his palm against his guitar and pulled open a scruffy notebook.

Enjolras pondered, still playing the chords in auto-pilot, the simplest thing he had played since he was five. “The disparity of classical music,” he said, turning to Grantaire with fire in his eyes.

“Woah,” Grantaire said, recoiling a little, “Not really a great subject for a pop song.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed back from the keyboard, “That’s why this whole assignment is a waste of time. You can’t talk about what you want to talk about, unless all you want to talk about is sex and alcohol.”

“Two very delightful subject matters,” Grantaire responded, mischievous glint in his eyes. When he noticed Enjolras’ stony expression he backtracked. “No, it’s not just like that... Well, okay, for the most part it is, but you can write about whatever you want, really.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “Okay, a pop song about the disparity of classical music, let’s... give it a go.”

Enjolras glanced at him carefully, still unsure whether Grantaire was mocking him. The dark haired boy gave a genuine smile, almost bashful as he ducked down to watch his finger position on the guitar. Enjolras blinked. He watched Grantaire astutely, taking in the curve of his neck and the curve of his nose, the ink-spill of eyelashes across his cheeks and the length and dexterity of his slender fingers.

They played together for a while, Grantaire improvising melodies and lyrics over the top of the basic chords. Enjolras nodded seriously and scribbled down notation in his trusty manuscript paper pad. “So for the chorus we can use the same four chords but just mix the order up,” Grantaire said, strumming once across the neck of the guitar.

Enjolras sighed and spectacularly collapsed onto the keyboard, a dissonant crash echoing throughout the room.

“You alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras merely groaned.

With a gentle clunk, Grantaire placed his guitar down and wheeled over to Enjolras on his chair.

“Enjolras,” he sung, drawing his knees to his chin. “Is it all getting too much?” Enjolras rolled his head and sent another chord ringing.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” Enjolras said dramatically, “But I would literally rather be shot twenty-seven times than write a pop song.”

“Ah. Not a great state of mind to be in.” He wheeled away and spun slowly in the centre of his room, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but instead of getting shot, we could get shots.” He laughed, the sound lovely and carefree and curling around Enjolras’ edges like smoke.

“I never drink alcohol when I’m composing,” Enjolras said, drawing to his full height and stretching out his limbs.

“Mozart did.”

“What?” Enjolras said after a beat.

“I’m just kidding, I have no idea what Wolfgang’s drinking habits were. I know mine, though, and there’s a lovely happy medium of being just the tiniest bit wasted and creating amazing stuff.”

“Does it still sound good the morning after?”

“Ahh!” Grantaire said in a stage-yell, “I didn’t want to hear the voice of reason tonight.” Enjolras’ lips broke into a smile, the phenomenon looking like sunshine on his face. “Okay so both getting shot and getting shots are out of the question, then. I guess we’ll just have to carry on composing.” He put a hand on Enjolras’ arm, his face edging a little closer than expected. “It gets better, I promise.”

“Stop,” Enjolras said with a groan, “I’m getting war flashbacks to bullying in high school.”

Grantaire paused. Where he had made to move back to his guitar, he turned to face Enjolras again, perplexity playing over his features.

“Bullying? You?” he gaped, “I’m aghast! Kids can find fault in Apollo reincarnate. No wonder my high school days were doomed.”

“I came out at like the age of seven, I was a pretty easy target.”

Enjolras noticed Grantaire’s eyes shift over him.

“Seven, wow! It took me ten years longer to get the courage,” Grantaire shrugged, “People were still idiots about it.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, realising that he had automatically assumed ultimate straightness after hearing Grantaire’s rumoured popularity with women. The silence permeated for seconds too long and he added, “Right! Pop music!”

~*~

Enjolras kind of hated to admit it, but the song was actually going pretty well and not sounding as horrific as he had imagined it would. Sure, its harmony was brain-clawingly annoying, and the lyrics eye-rollingly inane, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Honey, I’m home!” came a loud voice from outside Grantaire’s door. “Have you seen Claque? He has stolen my tobacco, piece of - ” Éponine barged through, “Oh,” she said, catching sight of Enjolras and backing out. “Oh!” she said again and re-entered. “It’s you! Enjolras, darling! Sorry I just saw the blonde hair and thought R was trying to impress a girl with his beautiful guitar fingering.”

“That joke wasn’t funny the first time you made it,” Grantaire said, barely looking up from his guitar. He executed a perfect, intricate riff.

“Nah, it’s like a fine wine. It gets even better each time.”

“Not how wine works,” Grantaire deadpanned. “And besides, you laugh, but girls love it! They think ‘ooh wow, look how long and quick his beautiful fingers are...’ and imagine them tangled in their hair as I take on the role of their ravishing lover.”

“Well... Is it working Enjolras?” Éponine asked.

Enjolras froze a little bit. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but... he turned his gaze to Grantaire’s fingers.

“Don’t tease, Ép,” Grantaire said, a mischief oozing from his every pore.

“I just don’t feel as special now that I know it’s not just me you’ve seduced with your fingers,” Enjolras said, pushing his lower lip out.

Éponine cackled and sloped further into the room, socks padding across the hardboard flooring. “What are you boys up to this fine evening?”

“Writing pop,” Grantaire said with a flicker of his eyebrows.

Éponine’s face suddenly contorted and she looked at Enjolras in disbelief. “Huh, didn’t expect that from you, babe.”

“I’m writing his first pop song with him,” Grantaire interjected, “Popping his pop cherry, it could be said.”

“It could be said,” Éponine laughed, “But it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Enjolras with a grimace, “I’m sorry you have to work with this loser.”

“Ugh, get out,” Grantaire said quickly, humour dancing in his eyes, “Can you not see we’re in the middle of a very serious and important task.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, echoing Grantaire’s levity, “He’s still in the middle of trying to seduce me with his fingers... It’s very important and serious.”

Both Éponine and Grantaire laughed raucously. Enjolras glowed with warmth.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Éponine stood and made to leave, she leant into Enjolras conspiratorially and mock-whispered, “Montparnasse’s hands are much nicer.”

“Lies!” Grantaire scoffed, “Begone you deceitful scoundrel!”  He shot a look at Enjolras, “She really is lying, Montparnasse’s flowery fingers have nothing on mine.”

“Don’t let him hear you call them that. It’s floral, darling, not flowery. Much more trendy.” Éponine traced Grantaire’s epic eye roll and added, “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later!”

Grantaire’s head bowed as he laughed to himself, features shadowed by his dark hair falling forwards. “I love her,” he said, fingers sprawling effortlessly over a complex guitar melody.

Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire’s hands, licking his suddenly very dry lips. “We could perform this live in class, if you’d like...” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked at him, eyes calculating.

“Would you want me in your class?”

“What do you mean?” A surprised giggle fell from Enjolras’ lips.

“I mean you’re a classical god and I’m sure all the teachers are in love with you. I am a mere mortal second year who’s honestly just a bit mediocre.”

“Mediocre? Are you kidding, Grantaire?”

What followed was a shift of energy that was hard to describe. The look that the two young men shared suddenly became heavier, the silence felt louder and Grantaire, usually the master of words, couldn’t form a sentence.

“Ha,” he said loudly, a hint of blush creeping across his cheekbones. “That’s how my parents liked to describe me,” he joked, stretching out languidly and dragging a hand through his hair. “Should we break? Do you want a snack or a drink or something?” Grantaire stood and threw his head back to elongate his muscles, only the way his eyes flickered shut and his lips slid apart made it look almost obscene.

“Do you have coffee?” Enjolras asked, trying to look anywhere else in the room.

“We have cheap granules, if that’s cool with you.” Grantaire laughed raucously, “It’s okay, darling, I can see from the terror in your eyes that cheap granules are not cool with you. Tea?”

“Do you have soya milk?”

“Oh you sweet boy,” Grantaire couldn’t stop laughing, “I don’t even know if I have regular milk that’s in-date. I think we have a box of green tea somewhere... Are you a green tea kinda guy?”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, “The extent of me being a green tea kinda guy is actually quite concerning.”

“Well I’m afraid I’m quite a bad influence, I can only feed your addiction. One green tea coming up!”

While Grantaire was out of the room, Enjolras properly looked around, eyes drifting across the debris that was scattered. A grubby looking mug held an array of drumsticks and paintbrushes, loose guitar strings were coiled in a messy pile, a precarious stack of records balanced an old gramophone. Pictures were tacked to the wall, stopping abruptly where Grantaire’s arms couldn’t reach.

Enjolras’ eyes caught a series of photographs of Grantaire and Jehan. In one picture they were meditating, the others doing intricate looking yoga poses: if joy could be captured, these pictures were evidence of it. Wide, lazy smiles and dopey shared glances were rife throughout the set.

“Here we are!” Grantaire said, carefully cupping a steaming mug. “One green tea! I’m going to go out for a smoke, want to join?”

Enjolras, took the hot tea in his hands. Grantaire cracked open the door, throwing a backwards glance at him. Enjolras felt suddenly very warm, and reckoned the cool air would do him good, second-hand smoke lung damage be damned. “Sure,” he said. Grantaire beamed, and Enjolras wondered how a word as simple as ‘sure’ could illicit such a response. He liked it. “Sure,” he repeated, and followed Grantaire into the cold.  

A/N: Hollaaa chapter 2! Like I said in chapter 1, I’m transferring this from my ao3, which is almost finished here if you want to read further! Hope ya enjoy! These classical nerds fill my heart with joy! Please let me know all your thoughts!! <3 

#e/r #exr #enjoltaire #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #les mis #les miserables #les mis fic #e/r fic #classical music #college au #les miserables fic #grantaire #enjolras #jehan #combeferre #courfeyrac #composer enjolras #enjolras fic #grantaire fic #les mis fandom #songbird-musing #virtuoso #virtuoso fic #ao3 #enjolras/grantaire #fan fiction #fan fic #enjoltaire fic

[trompe-la-mort]

Los miserables, 1971 – “Holy Hugo, they included ‘insert rare scene here’!”

Wrote this a while ago and realised I never posted it. So here goes.

Do you have a favourite obscure scene or detail in Les misérables that hardly ever makes the cut in screen adaptations? If you do, this might just be the adaptation for you. If you want to see an adaptation that tells the story well, however, this is not for you.

It's a nineteen-part (coincidence? I think not...) TV adaptation by the Spanish channel RTVE within its show “Novela”, a show of multiple literature adaptations that ran for fifteen years in total!

And the best part: You can see it all online on RTVE's webpage: http://www.rtve.es/alacarta/videos/los-miserables/

You can skip all episodes with mod 5 = 1 (except the first one), those are the episodes originally shown on Mondays, recapping what happened last week.

Like the Italian TV adaptation, this is unfortunately hindered by its budget. Unlike the Italian TV adaptation, this has the additional problem of its screenwriter's frankly bizarre understanding of concepts such as “pacing” and “importance”.

Now, don't get me wrong, I think it's rather cool to have an adaptation that includes many of the more obscure scenes, but I know the book and I know the context for all of these. I think asking how much sense the plot actually makes to someone who only knows this adaptation is a legitimate question.

Time is “wasted” on montages, dream-sequences and scenes of characters tossing and turning in bed, all of them many times longer than they have any right to be. Partially, it feels like the screenwriter couldn't decide which plot details to include and then just tried to incorporate as many of them as possible – continuity be damned. As an example, he took the time to include Mabeuf's death at the barricade, but it doesn't mean anything, since it happens to a character we have never seen before. Because Mabeuf's entire background is missing. To top it off, the watching students call him “le conventionel”, probably just to tick another box on the check list. To get another time saver, “show, don't tell” is occasionally blatantly violated. We get Valjean's entire history from him telling his life story to the bishop. The backstory of Marius and Gillenormand is conveyed in their fight before Marius leaves, meaning all the info is solely for the benefit of the audience, because all characters involved already know this stuff. Yet, bizarrely, they occasionally have time for a “show” where none would have been necessary. We get a far too long montage of Fantine with Cosette in Paris, that includes Fantine getting fired from her old job. Honestly, you can cover the question of why Fantine leaves Paris with a single line – you know, like it's done in the original?

I wouldn't usually mind, but it not only messes up the pacing, but it also takes up time that could have been used to flesh out some of the details. Or even some of the main plot points. We have Marius letting Thénardier go at the end, but Marius doesn't owe him a debt in this one. It might have made the Gorbeau robbery easier, but at the end, Marius has no real reason to not call the police. That is, if Thénardier is even a prison escapee. It's never shown nor mentioned how he got out of prison after the Gorbeau house robbery. On a smaller scale, it leads to a few bizarre moments, where introductions or transitions are missing, as if someone was trying to cut the corners wherever possible. For example, one episode starts with Marius' and Gillenormand's fight, without any introduction to their conflict or any real introduction of the characters (apart from Marius being the cute boy from the park). Or take the Champmathieu trial. The prosecutor asks for the witnesses to be heard and the very next moment, the judge is already questioning Brevet. No scene of the witnesses entering the room or at least the camera pointing out that they've been there all the time (because I definitely missed that in the overhead shots of the fairly small courtroom set); no scene of the judge calling the first witness, which becomes even worse when he does it to every subsequent witness.

Between this kind of overly short editing and long, drawn-out scenes of Marius healing (which commits the additional cardinal sin of making us think that it's finally over with a short conversation, only to continue for another minute or so) or of Fantine tossing on her bed (which we only later realise is prossibly Cosette's birth!), it feels a bit like there were too many people involved and no two of them could disagree over the tone and style of this adaptation.

I have another, if slightly petty, complaint: Why do the opening credits contain pictures of scenes we never get to see? It makes it pretty hard to identify which actor played which character and it also made it look they would include scenes that end up not being there. From the credits, you could be forgiven for thinking that there are scenes in Toulon, that Valjean's sister shows up or that they include the scene where Éponine stops Patron-Minette from robbing the house in the Rue Plumet. None of these actually happen.

Just to finish my list of complaints about this adaptation, let me talk about Javert. Now, I like the basic idea of what they did with the character, if only because it is the opposite to what most other adaptations do. In many adaptations, Javert is portrayed as a far more villainous character than in the book. These guys went the opposite way. Javert is calm and polite most of the time (making his one outburst when he arrests Valjean even more meaningful) and in one scene seems concerned about Fantine's safety (while she's still employed at Madeleine's factory that is), when he meets her in a disreputable part of town after dark and insists on accompanying her to her destination. Yes, it's later made clear that he still uses this to find out what she was doing there in the first place and this is what kicks off the chain of events leading to Mme Victurnien finding out about Cosette, but the two scenes taken together imply that Javert is both caring about the safety of an innocent civilian and spying on said civilian, just in case they're not as innocent as they seem to be. If they had done it like this throughout the movie I wouldn't be complaining.

Yet, it also means they had Javert come up to Madeleine, stating that he is happy to be the first to congratulate him about his appointment as mayor. It makes Javert's later resentment of Madeleine seem quite petty. Or the end of the “Confrontation”, where Javert, rather than leading Valjean out  of the room, just makes a hand gesture to ask him to step out. Which again could have worked, but then he would have had to stay polite for all of the scene. Which he didn’t. They also decided not to stick to it for the entirety of the series. The portrayal of Javert in the later parts is more “traditional”, so to speak.

The acting is solid, for the most part, but hardly ever outstanding, although I’m likely not the best judge. Valjean's acting is fairly, occasionally too, subtle and he's a bit too calm for my taste in his entire encounter with the bishop. The actor, Pepe Calvo, is better known for his work in spaghetti western movies and I've by now realised that the reason he seemed familiar to me from the beginning is because of the western “Dead Men Ride” which I saw as a child, in which he plays a Myriel-like character of all things. I've described my thoughts on Javert, but I think that is due to decisions by the director and the scriptwriter, not the actor. Fantine has an annoying tendency to overact, especially in the later parts of her appearance. Cosette, fortunately not played by the same actress, is a bit boring. Little Cosette, however, does outstanding work for a child actress. Both Thénardiers are decent; they went the “Mme Thénardier needs to look sufficiently trustworthy for Fantine to leave her child with her”-route and she doesn't quite manage to be as scary as she should be. Everybody else is rather unremarkable.

Oh, and while we're at it: If you cast as Cosette an actress who actually looks like a teenager and as Marius an actor who might be in his early thirties, you need to specify that Marius is only a few years older than Cosette. Please!

But now to what I like about this adaptation: It's occasionally insane attention to details.

I've complained about the over-abundance of dream-sequences, but some of them really work. Showing one of Cosette's daydreams explains her life, character and dreams much better than any number of “real” scenes could have. Even more awesome is the inclusion of Valjean's dream before the Champmathieu trial. I mean, “Tempête sous un crâne” is usually going to be a weird scene anyway, you might just replace it with a weird dream while you're at it. Also, holy shit, they included Valjean's dream! That's a definite first.

Here's a list of further uncommon scenes this movie has: -Valjean steals Petit-Gervais's coin, although he does it before meeting the bishop -The bishop gets some exposition. It's only done in two conversations with his sister and Mme Magloire, but it's there -The scene of Tholomyès and Co. dumping the girls -A meeting of the Amis verbatim from the book -Gillenormand believes Marius to be dead and faints when Marius opens his eyes.

And here's a list of crazily uncommon scenes this movie has: -Fantine's meeting with the Thénardiers includes the girls using a cart chain as a swing -Details about work in the jet factory -Fantine thinks she hears Cosette outside the hospital -Cosette lying about watering the guest's horse -The coffin-escape! In full, glorious length and details. -Javert has a letter from the prefect in his pocket -Marius' note to identify his corpse -Escaping from the barricade in National Guard uniforms (although Valjean doesn't put in the one he is currently wearing) -Valjean writes the letter explaining to Cosette the origins of his fortune

Also, the ending is really well done. I really recommend you watch it for yourself, I don't think describing it can do it justice.

Generally, avoid this for a first look at Les Mis, but for a fan this is an interesting adaptation to watch and I suggest you give at least some parts a look, if only for the novelty.

#Les Misérables #los miserables #los miserables 1971 #movie adaptation #les misérables adaptations