#ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴛᴏ sʟᴀɴᴅᴇʀ -Answered Asks-

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💙 Thank you for existing. 💙 Send this to 10 people who you think deserve a sweet and kind message in their inbox 💙

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THIS IS A TUMBLR HUG! PASS IT ON TO 10 OF YOUR FAVORITE FOLLOWERS AND DON'T BREAK THE CHAIN! HAVE A LOVELY DAY! ~♡ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

          MRRP

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smorf

           smeef

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Give ♡ this ♡ to ♡ the ♡ twelve ♡ nicest ♡ people ♡ you ♡ know ♡ if ♡ you ♡ get ♡ five ♡ back ♡ you ♡ must ♡ be ♡ amazing ♡ and ♡ even ♡ if ♡ you ♡ don't ♡ you ♡ are ♡ still ♡ AMAZING

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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*a note in an unfamiliar but elegant hand arrives on paper bearing the Sharpe family crest, reading simply "She is better off without you."*

           “Bill, bill, death threat from the priest, bill…” Pierre’s thin mouth hardened in a hard line as he came across the other letter. After a moment of thought, he threw it into the fire with the rest.

                         “Letter from Berthe, ma puce?” Beatrice called idly from her chair over a trashy romance novel.

              “Somefin’ li’ that.” He muttered, waiting until he saw the last bits of envelope curl up and burn before leaving it unattended

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'Mourning'

             It was a rare occurrence that Pierre heard from home. That was by design. The Thenards had labored under the belief that their youngest son died in Italy - a happy accident of the rapidly disintegrating French Empire and Grand Army. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d learned otherwise, but the angry letters from Berthe and the occasional Michaelmas letter from Josephine shortly after Eponine was born were enough for him to know that they had.

              It was an even rarer occurrence that he bothered reading the ones from Berthe - they all read the same way. “Come back to the farm, the bank’s threatening to take the land if we don’t have a man sign on it and Henri still hasn’t come back, disgrace on the family name” - he was aware, that’s why he’d changed his. It was lucky that he’d opened this one, though.

                            “Josie...” No tears came to his eyes. Those were exclusively for drunken revelations and eleborate cons. Instead, the light fell from his eyes. His thin lips hardened into a line. His throat tightened. “Only forty five...”

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Didius Julianus - What is the worst prize your character ever won? 
Septimius Severus - When was a time your character overextended themselves?

              So I heard you went to Catholic School - Not Accepting

Didius Julianus - 

               Pierre’s probably gotten a “world’s worst lay” award at some point during a bad breakup, and Bea definitely won a “Paris’s biggest whore” award in modern verse

Septimius Severus - 

               Look I’m not saying that the raccoons are slackers, but they’re slackers. The closest was Bea being pregnant while also being a soldier’s wife on the fucking battlefield. By her own admission, that was a pretty dumb decision, and Eponine having tinnitus for the first 6 months of her life hammered in that lesson pretty well.

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*a (mostly) faceless, skeletal crimson abomination gives Thibault the finger and disappears*

             “I still don’t understand why you all harass me when it’s my son and his guttersnipe wife who keep committing criminal activities!”

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*birb pats the Munrie* Here's a question for you: of all the ghosts who haunt Allerdale Hall, who does Pierre like best?

      Probably Enola tbh. He likes all of them with the obvious exception of Lady Beatrice, who can go pound clay.

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*sends Thibault Thenard a box of very large, very alive brown moths, postmarked from somewhere in Cumberland*

          Horrified Thibault noises

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❛ Here it is - suspicion and anxiety. ❜ // modern polythenards

                        “Only if you think it is.” Pierre sighed, rubbing at his forehead painfully. “Beatrice knows wot’s between us alright. She's told me, she's told you. Our argument wos about money - nofin else.”

          The man was frustrated, madly frustrated, but he knew better than to raise his voice. It would frighten her more, and the last thing he needed to do was chase her off when they had come so far.