#Unhinged Beta

[crocchompers]

(A scene from the sleep fairy video)

I love Toyland and Unhinged (Both by @dumblittlejay <3)

[snailsnaps]

*evils cutely*

[rattymess]

Kabedon-ing Headcanons w/ Moon Knight System

Genre: Fluff (but it might get a leeeetol explicit ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )) Pairing(s): Steven Grant x Reader; Marc Spector x Short!Reader; Jake Lockley x Tall!Reader Summary: In which you want to kabedon the moon boys Word Count: 1500-ish Warnings: Mentions of sex, cursing, (I can't think of any more at the moment) Author's Note: I thought of this at the late hours of the night (as rats tend to do) ┬┴┬┴┤(･_ ├┬┴┬┴ ...anyways, here's a youtube link if you don't know what a kabedon is: https://youtube.com/shorts/YpoqG_VBNas?si=Wywo9pQ2clL6ZbsW

STEVEN GRANT:

You’re both getting ready to go home after your shift at the museum

As he’s fiddling with his coat, you remember a video you saw on the internet and stare mischievously at Steven 

“Hey, Steven?” You motion for him to come closer

He stops adjusting his coat, putting all of his attention on you

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you know what a kabedon is?”

He’s a bit confused, eyebrows furrowing inquisitively at your question

“K-Kabedon? What’s that?”

Seeing your shit-eating grin, he gets a little nervous and starts fiddling with his fingers

“You’ll love it,” you say as you take his hands in yours 

Honestly, he wouldn’t be that anxious if you weren’t quietly chuckling so hard

“Move by that corner of the wall over there.”

“H-Huh? Oh, okay”

“Put your hands together like this,” you say as you grip your hands together

He’s sweating a little but he cautiously does what you say

“Put one of your hands up, Steven.”

He gulps

“Steven, I’m not going to kill you. Come on.”

Trembling, his right hand slowly lifts up from his hold

You slide your right hand into his, holding his fist

“Now that wasn’t so bad, right, Steven?”

A little bit flustered by your touch, he clears his throat

“I guess not���but what are you–OH!”

You quickly lift your right hand onto the wall above, teasingly pushing poor Steven into the corner with your left arm with a small thud

He’s turning red now, a fluttering mess that’s looking everywhere but your face

You hold your right hand still, with little to no resistance from Steven

You gently prod his chin up to stare into your eyes

You examine his face, from his quivering pink lips to his pinkening cheeks to his messy curls that are a little tousled by the wall, and then down to his widening doe eyes that are locked onto yours 

“You’re so much cuter up close, Steven.”

“H-Huh?” He sputters out, his brain still trying to get a sense of the predicament he’s in

“I said,” you repeat louder. “You’re so much cuter up close.”

His words get choked up in his throat, rendering him silent

Thinking you might’ve crossed a boundary, you gently put his hands down and swiftly disentangle your hand from his

“I-I’m sorry, Steven. I think I did something I shouldn’t have.” 

You back up a step from his figure, lowering your head in shame

“N-NO!”

You look back up, confusion clearly littering across your face

“Please hold my hand again,” Steven blubbered out, desperation clinging to his words

Oh?

You slowly reach your hands out to Steven, as if one wrong move might startle him again

He clasps your hands together, flustered and still a little bit embarrassed after what just occurred

“Guess you really liked it, huh?” You say, grinning ear to ear as you tug him out of the corner

“Yeah,” he replies, reciprocating your grin

“I guess I did.”

MARC SPECTOR:

“Hey, Marc!”

Marc’s normally-scowling face softens as he sees you sprint to him from across the hall

“Can I try something on you?”

“Hm?”

He eyes you cautiously, trying to figure out your intentions. You aren’t usually this chipper

He sighs. 

What can you possibly do anyway?

“Fine.”

You bounce on your feet, beaming as you point to his door

“Can I come in?”

He shrugs, fitting his key into the lock and twisting the handle to open the door

“Be my guest.”

Before he can even walk past his doorway, he sees you quickly kick off your shoes before darting into his living room

“STAY RIGHT THERE!” You scream behind your shoulder to Marc

He furrows his eyebrows, crossing his arms as he waits for you. What the hell?

You come back with one of his chairs in your arms

“Sit down.” 

You pat the chair in front of you lightly as you place it right in front of the door

Marc cocks his eyebrow, a slight frown evident on his face

“Why?”

You groan.

“Just do it, Marc.”

“Fine, fine.”

He roughly plops himself down onto the chair, arms still crossed 

He kind of looks like a primary school child in time-out, honestly

You’re now just at a slightly higher level than him

Looking down, you can tell that he’s calculating your next move based on the way his eyes are trailing you

“Okay, Marc. Hands together,” you instruct, positioning your own hands together to demonstrate

He grumbles, begrudgingly clasping his hands together

“You know I have things to do, right?”

“Right hand up,” you continue, choosing to ignore his previous comment

He rolls his eyes and lifts his hand up

You quickly slide your hand into the space between his fingers, grasping his fist tightly as you pound it above him against the door

“Hey! Wha–!”

Marc thrashes against your grip but to no avail. You’ve got his hands completely incapacitated

“Not so strong now, huh, Spector?” You smugly tease

It’s rare to see him in such a powerless position…you kind of like it

He growls, continuing to pull against your hand

“Let me go,” he snarls, anger pooling in his eyes

“Make me.” You motion towards his hands with your head. “What are you going to do without your precious hands, Spector?”

He looks down and smirks

“This.”

He kicks your feet from under you, causing you to gasp and fall (not so gracefully) onto his lap, hugging him tightly with your free arm

“I’ll use my feet, sweetheart.”

You can feel his deep breaths against your neck. (It's comforting) 

Feeling your heart suddenly quicken in your chest due to your close proximity (and the endearing nickname he just so casually muttered out), you quickly scramble off of him, untangling your hands in the process

“W-Well played, Spector,” you stammer out, flustered from the incident just seconds prior. “You win, okay?”

He lowly chuckles, sensing your embarrassment

“Let me try now, sweetheart.”

JAKE LOCKLEY:

(Author's Note: GOOGLE TRANSLATE IS HAVING A FUCKIN FIELD DAY W THIS ONE LMAO)

You were the last passenger of the day for Jake Lockley 

But if he has to be honest, he’d rather spend another hour with you than have to close up and head back to his place

Normally, customers would try to keep to themselves, maybe engage in a bit of conversation before ultimately quieting down to a mildly comfortable silence 

But you? Yeah, no. You talked about everything

But it wasn’t like you weren’t passively engaging him in the conversation

You can feel Jake indulging your thoughts and stories with his hearty chuckles and tight-lipped grins from the rearview mirror

So, when he finally parked by your street, you were a bit disheartened that you may never see him again

“Jakey?”

“¿Sí?” (Yes?)

“Do you know what a kabedon is?”

He loses himself in thought for a second before shaking his head

“¿No, qué es eso?” (No, what is it?)

You cheekily stare into the rearview mirror to catch his eyes

“Do you wanna know what it is?”

Sensing your teasing behaviour, he cocks his eyebrows in question but slowly nods his head

“Can you come out of the car?” you ask as you begin to pull the door handle to leave

He tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth in apprehension

“I promise I won’t mug you,” you jokingly quip, climbing out of his car

Hey, what did he have to lose?

Sighing but getting out of his car anyway, Jake breathes in the cold night air as he closes his car door

It's a beautiful night

He fixes his cap as he turns to face you

“¿Que sigue?” (what’s next?)

You grin, glad that he was going to indulge in another one of your stupid shenanigans

“Okay! So, put your hands together, like this,” you direct him, cheeky grin still plastered across your face as you grip your hands together tightly

“Uh huh,” he mumbles as he mimics your actions

“Then put your right hand up.”

“Mm.” He looks intently at your fingers

“And thennnn…” You purposely reach your hand out to clasp his fist, holding it in place

You then quickly and swiftly raise his hands onto the car’s roof, hearing a soft thud and groan as his body comes in contact with the door

“That happens,” You say, hovering over him

You scan his face for any signs of hurt or discomfort (and also because, let’s face it, he’s a pretty attractive guy)

He cracks a smile, letting you see the canines of his teeth (GOD that’s hot)

“Eso era bueno” (that was good)

“Yeah? I saw it on the internet,” you chuckle in relief as you start releasing his hands from your grasp. “I’ve always wanted to try it on someone.”

Jake intensely scans your chuckling figure through his half-lidded eyes, a smirk now gracing his face

Just before you can react to what’s happening, he grabs you by the waist and pushes toward the car door, eliciting an unexpected gasp from you

“Déjame devolver el favor, hermosa/hermoso” (allow me to return the favour, beautiful)

...

(im going to have to assume that they traded numbers after that ‘cuz no way in hell did they just leave that tension unresolved)

[0xochitlsketches0]

I think my favorite thing about this version of Hunter ,aside from looking like he bites ankles, is he also looks like he would not hesitate to kill the other Hunters.

[sea-owl]

For gothic Featheringtons, Pen saw that first glimpse of ferality from Colin and decided the choker was coming off. She likes a man who is a little unhinged.

Portia always told her daughters that they must marry passionate men, life would be too boring otherwise, and it is the way of the Addams women. Penelope did truly love Colin but she never saw any sort of passion from him, so he was nothing more than a nice what if.

Until he followed her to the church. Those green eyes of his darkening to the color of the forests, and he had a look on his face that she has never seen before.

Could you blame Penelope for being curious? First sign of passion she has seem from him ever, she had to know where this led. In the carriage, where Penelope could study Colin closely, it became obvious that he was going into rut.

Penelope remembered the stories of the great chases between alphas and omegas her Aunt Medea used to tell in her letters. Him following her in their carriages wouldn't have counted as one, would it? Well Penelope supposed it could, chases down to the basic level was an alpha following an omega until the alpha caught them. It was an old mating ritual, to prove the alpha worthy of claiming the omega.

When Colin begged her to stay Penelope knew she would be agreeing to more than just staying in that moment. His need to suck on her chocker covered mating gland was proof of that.

Could anyone really blame her for taking it off? I mean she knew it would come off eventually. Why waste time when she could enjoy this in its fullest. When Colin bit her she knew.

Penelope Featherington had found her passionate alpha.

[blazingblorbos]

THIS DIALOGUE OPTION HAS SINGLE-HANDEDLY CHANGED THE TRAJECTORY OF MY LIFE

I love Trailblazer so much

[deelebee]

A bit late but WOOHOO WIP WEDNESDAY: Kevin POV edition

Kevin knew off-handedly that Andrew’s memory was insanely accurate, but he didn’t think his brain retained information eidetically like this. It was a truth, something Neil and Andrew had a game going about, but it was also a giveaway. Andrew was in, he was playing the game, and Kevin felt a rush of elation only matched by the memory of Neil’s lips on his.

It seemed that Neil was having this same realization, because he looked at Kevin, then Wymack, then back to Andrew. “How tall is Lakes?”

A fifth-year striker. Five foot eight or nine if Kevin remembered correctly. Andrew shot Neil a bored look. “Look it up.”

“Humor me just this once,” Neil replied, and Andrew began turning away, but Neil hooked his fingers in Andrew’s racquet like Kevin had done to Neil’s at the beginning of the summer and tugged. “How tall is he?”

“Five-six?” Matt guessed.

“Five-eight,” Andrew corrected, and Kevin silently sucked in a breath.

Neil let go of Andrew’s racquet and held onto his own, looking every inch a professional exy striker with the determination of a drowning man fighting the waves. “We’re going to win.”

“You were expecting us to lose?” Dan asked.

“No,” Neil admitted, and grinned, and Kevin knew a shark when he saw one, and he could see Andrew’s gaze on Neil’s twisted smile out of the corner of his eye, and they were both so fucked for this boy, weren’t they?

Then the smile was hidden with Neil’s gloved hand against his mouth, like he could tell he was smiling and hated it, and the moment was gone.

[arthurtaylorlester]

SURPRISE MALEVOLENT FIC I CHURNED OUT WITH AN ALL-NIGHTER BECAUSE MY AO3 HTML SCRIPT DIED ON ME AND I HAD TO MANUALLY FORMAT THIS !!

ft. one very possessive arthur

wait wdym you think i'm projecting again? what! nooo, why would i try to mend a relationship i don't have through writing vaguely healthy communication your crazy hahah

[justgayrevolutionnaries]

The sun, the stars and everything in between

My gift for @fructidors for the @drinkwithme-exchange ! I chose to write for Enjolras and Jehan, with maybe a bit of Triumvirate and Jehan/Grantaire friendship because I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy !

Find it on ao3 or read below for those who prefer tumblr

1826

It was not that Enjolras distrusted rich people. He just couldn't stand them, and would rather forget that he was one himself.

So naturally when Combeferre pointed out to him a student he had met at la Sorbonne, who seemingly had no trouble with paying the monthly fee asked of him by the school, he couldn't help but at first consider him with the usual level of scorn he felt when looking at anyone coming from the higher classes.

He was soon to be proven wrong, however, for the young man turned out to be everything but what Enjolras expected.

His hair was longer than what was socially considered conventional, he spent hours looking at anything and everything with a thoughtful look on his face and seemed to be taking more interest in the sky than in the world of men. Enjolras immediately had him pinned down as a Romantic- which wasn't necessarily a good thing, since he couldn't help but feel irritated toward people who, in his eyes, spend their lives contemplating the world in melancholy but doing nothing to change it.

What really caught Enjolras's attention, however, was when he overheard the Romantic talk to a group of other students in a café often used as a gathering point by- well, young students. It sounded more like he was delivering a poem than properly talking, actually, seeing how smoothly the words were coming out of his mouth. And those words were explaining the misery of the world- and of orphans. From what Enjolras could hear, the young man was deeply affected by the fate of orphans in Paris, and seemed more than willing to act about it.

After that, Enjolras felt more than willing to talk to the redhead, even though Combeferre had been begging to introduce them for weeks. It actually seemed surprisingly easy to approach him- maybe it was the way he always looked at everything with a dreamy look on his face, or maybe it was the way Enjolras sometimes found his eyes fixed on him at gatherings, as if he was studying Enjolras or looking for something specific in him. The point was, he seemed nice. And maybe easy to talk to. Maybe that was why Enjolras found himself walking toward the young man's table at the café, forgetting he usually had no idea how to start conversations.

"I liked what you said earlier," he said bluntly. As the other looked up at him in surprise, he felt the need to elaborate : "your poem, about the night and, um, orphans. I really enjoyed listening to it."

"Well, thank you. If is not my best, but I was kind of proud of it, so I figured… why not share it with the class ?"

He had an awkward smile, much to Enjolras's surprise- for some reason he had expected him to be very laid back, like Courfeyrac, another one of his friends, but it turned out the redhead was about as talented as Enjolras to start a conversation in a decent way.

After a rather awkward moment Enjoras was wondering what he was supposed to say next and silently cursing himself for trying to start a conversation without Courfeyrac there, the poet held out his left hand for the blonde to shake, while his right one was busy trying to extract what looked like an old smoking-pipe from his pocket. He had to take out various items, including three rocks of various shapes and what seemed to be peacock feathers (Enjolras decided not to ask) before he found what he was looking for and could focus back on Enjolras.

"Jehan Prouvaire, at your service. Does it bother you if I smoke ?"

"Not at all" answered Enjolras, somewhat amused by the manners of the young man. "Jehan, huh ?"

The other waved aside with a nonchalant look. "Mere fantasy of a poet. You can call me Jean, or even Prouvaire if you like. Do you happen to have a name, or am I expected to find one for you ? Because I have multiple ideas that would quite suit you. Did you ever consider-"

Enjolras thought it wiser to interrupt him there. Not that he disliked listening to the other man, who actually had a very soft and pleasant voice, but he was afraid of the kind of nickname the eccentric redhead thought would fit him.

"That will be quite unnecessary. I am Enjolras." He said, finally reaching out for Prouvaire's hand. "I am glad to make your acquaintance… citizen."

The last word had escaped his mouth after a second of hesitation, carefully watching Prouvaire's face for his reaction. He was not, however, expecting the small laugh that came out of his lips.

"I am only amused by your carefulness. Do I look much like a royalist to you ?"

Enjolras felt the pressure on his stomach untighten. He had witnessed the unconventional behavior of the young man and heard the way he talked of the world around him, and he actually would have been very surprised if such a man turned out to be anything but a supporter of freedom- but again, one never knew. For the first time he found himself smiling genuinely at him.

"Not really. And I shall admit, I am rather happy you aren't. I would have been very disappointed to find out I was wrong about you."

"I shall be happy to have proven you right, then," the poet, who at this point was surrounded by a cloud of smoke, answered with a mocking reverence.

***

1828

He didn't know exactly what Prouvaire was doing here. Despite openly having political opinions that answered more or less those of Enjolras, the poet had never struck him as what he would call a fierce revolutionary. Not that Enjolras was unhappy to discover he had misjudged him, he was always more than content when a new friend joined their group. It was just that he suspected the poet of dropping by the café only to try and meet people who were as interested as him in studying in detail a play of Corneille, the appearance of a new constellation or the shape of the clouds.

While Enjolras was wrong in that the poet was indeed one of the most helpful members, and certainly the one that cared most about doing everything he could to help others, it was true that Jehan wasn't helping by always choosing to sit near one of the newest members of the group, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to empty as many bottles of wine as it was humanly possible.

As a matter of fact, when Enjolras happened to overhear one of the conversations taking place at the table in the corner, the two men always seemed to be talking of any imaginable subject except for the revolution.

"... must have been nice to be one of those gods living on Mount Olympus", Grantaire was currently saying. "To spend your days to eat, drink and contemplate the world- what more could one possibly ask of life ?"

Prouvaire reflected thoughtfully : "The greek gods, huh ? I have always found it quite nice that Apollo was for them not only the god of the sun, but also the god of music. After all, isn't music a way to bring light and warmth in our lives ?"

"What I like about those gods is that they seem to live on, even today, in some of us. For me, I guess I shall be Dionysus, for obvious reasons." Grantaire gestured vaguely at his body, as the poet threw him an amused look. "You can be Apollo if that pleases you- would it only be because you are such a strong defender of poetry in our world, and you can play the lyre."

"The harp, actually," Jehan interrupted him with an offended tone, "and I am surprised the comparison did not arise from my ability to brighten your life a considerable amount."

Grantaire made a disdainful gesture while rolling his eyes to the sky.

"The harp, the lyre… same difference to me. If I touched either one, all I would get out of them would be an atrocity that would so gravely offend one of your music gods that they would probably-"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed that Enjolras had left Combeferre and Courfeyrac to argue on their own on the other side of the room and was making his way toward them.

"I should probably leave now" Grantaire muttered, and before his friend could stop him he had grabbed his coat and made his way through the (extremely) crowded room to the door.

He had probably sensed that Enjolras was not in a mood to be nice with him- and he had been right, since as soon as the blonde reached the table where Jehan was left alone, seemingly wondering whether or not he should run after Grantaire, his first words were : "Do you ever wonder why the man even bothers coming here- does he at least have fun annoying all of us with his meaningless talk ?"

The words probably came out way more rude than he intended to and he immediately felt guilty of it- Jehan hadn't really done anything to deserve this.

"You should give him more credit, you know" Prouvaire said absently, his eyes still fixated on the bottle his friend had left on the table without even bothering to finish it.

Enjolras turned to him, not even trying to mask his irritation. "What should I give him credit for ? Being here ? Those meetings are for serious matters. Everyone here genuinely cares about our revolution, about helping people, fighting for them. Everyone here believes in something better that keeps them going. Grantaire doesn't believe in anything, save maybe wine."

"Doesn't he ?" There was a thoughtful look on his face, as if he hadn't been expecting Enjolras to say that. "You know… sometimes I wonder."

Prouvaire got up, most likely to try and catch up with Grantaire, leaving Enjolras to wonder what he had been trying to say.

***

1830

Prouvaire was vaguely aware that he and Enjolras were the only people left in the café, and that all the others had left when it had started to get dark. He was also vaguely aware that his friend had been talking for a while, most likely about what the better place to build a barricade would be or Courfeyrac's latest idea to find ammunition- sometimes a few words reached his ears, such as "strategic area" and "take back their freedom".

But he was only vaguely paying attention to all of this, because he had spent his afternoon in the café doing what he did best- living in his own world and writing endlessly. For some reasons the ideas were flowing to his mind today, and he had covered countless sheets in scribbled words, unfinished verses and distracted doodles. But now he had been stuck on this verse for a while and did not like it.

At this moment he heard Enjolras clap his fingers and ask, in a voice that seemed worlds away from him : "Prouvaire, do you really find me this boring ?"

The sarcasm passed unnoticed as the poet, not looking up from the sheet in front of him and seeming incredibly focused on the quill in his hand, managed to let out enough words to communicate like a normal human being. .

"I think I need your help, actually." Paying absolutely no attention to his friend's sigh, he added : "Can you find a good synonym for "loyalty" ?"

Surprised at first, Enjolras's look was quick to soften and since he knew that it would be useless to try and blame Jehan, and was not even willing to, as he felt a kind of tenderness where the soft nature of the poet was concerned, he chose to be helpful and answer the question.

"Faithfulness ?" He suggested. "Devotion ?" As if his own words had brought a new idea to his mind, he frowned and added "things I wish more men would have."

Jehan was about to answer that "faithfulness" had too many syllables for what he was trying to do, but surprised by the bitter tone, unusual in the usually passionate voice of his friend, he managed to get out of his bubble and looked up to find the blonde staring into space, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, that sounds like an optimistic thought coming from you. What do you mean by that, if I may ask ?"

His friend sighed and opened his arms. "I don't really know myself. I guess sometimes I feel like I have lost faith- we are doing something so important here, but we have no guarantee of anything. No guarantee that what we do will change something, no guarantee that the men will have the heart to come and help us in this fight. I know I shouldn't think that, because I believe in our fight, but I can't help it."

Prouvaire interrupted him with his soft voice, putting a hand on the other man's arm : "why shouldn't you ? It is normal to have doubts, you know. But as long as you remember what you are fighting for, those doubts can not stop you."

Enjolras let his head fall back with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"I envy you, you know."

The poet glanced an intrigued look at him.

"Before I consider myself flattered, I am going to need you to elaborate. You are really looking quite weird today, Enjolras."

"You always seem to be so optimistic, you know. About pretty much everything- the flowers in your garden, the friends you meet, the fact that any of this-" he gestured with a bitter look at the empty tables surrounding them, "has a chance to ever succeed. This is why I admire you, and with you all the poets. You know how to find hope in the smallest things, be it a ladybug in a garden or a burnt-out candle."

"But you seem to be quite the poet yourself, my friend."

Enjolras merely shook his head, although his friend's suggestion had managed to bring a smile to his lips.

"I leave such activities to those worthy of them. I fear one couldn't call anything I do poetic- all I ever do is talk of revolution and mythic battles, and you can not call me a poet for merely writing speeches."

"You are wrong here. I have seen how you always have your way with words. It is why they admire you, you know. People such as our friends, Grantaire, myself… everyone. Unlike so many people, you know the power of words and how to use it. Maybe it seems to you there is no poetry in your thoughts, but I can assure you your speeches and your ideals inspire me as much as any poem of Dante or anyone else could. And this is a compliment, really."

Enjolras, whose only reaction to this had been to smirk at the mention of Grantaire, had to admit softly :

"If you say so my friend. I suppose I can trust your opinion on those matters. As long as you do not ask me to start smoking the pipe or write what you would consider a poetic verse, I am fine with being considered a poet in the way you mean it."

Jehan burst out laughing at this.

"Don't come and give me ideas. And I am sure you would love it, by the way."

***

1831

"I can not believe I got out of bed for this. Did we really have to be there this early ? The night hasn't even fallen yet" Courfeyrac complained.

"You didn't have to come, then" Combeferre replied mockingly, which earned him a scandalized look from the former.

It had been Prouvaire's idea, unsurprisingly- to spend the evening in the Luxembourg garden so they could look at the stars. There were only four of them, Prouvaire, Combeferre, Enjolras, who was there half willingly and half because the first two had threatened him or dragging him to a ball later if he did not come, and Courfeyrac who could not possibly imagine not being involved in an evening between friends. Grantaire had been invited as well, but for some reason he did not elaborate on, he had refused to come.

"You know," Courfeyrac reflected, pensively looking at a flower he had picked up a few minutes ago, "I have always wondered why you poets always enjoyed looking at the stars so much. I am not saying they are boring, but to look at them your entire lives… what do you find in them that we," he elbowed Enjolras in the ribs,"mere mortals, don't ?"

Jehan let out a small laugh at this. "There is not one answer to this, you know. This is why I like the stars, actually. They mean something different for everyone. I guess I like how they mostly remind me of how small we all are- or, if you want a more optimistic thought, they are at the same time a symbol of hope. Simply consider the way they are so far away from us, yet they are so big that their light still reaches us from over there. And they have been shining like this for longer than we could even imagine."

"Stars can die too, like everything." Enjolras couldn't help but point out, which caused Prouvaire to frown slightly.

"Who is talking about dying ? Dying can wait for now. I would much rather spend my time listening to the sound of a river, watching flowers grow or studying the stars, like now. And like you are doing right now for what I believe is the first time in your life. Enjoy life for a moment, my friend."

He put an arm around Enjolras's shoulders, smiling encouragingly at him, but the blonde shoved him back playfully.

"Contrary to popular belief, my friend, I actually do enjoy looking at the stars."

Combeferre looked at him, raising his eyebrows slightly in a disbelieving manner. "Do you now ? Not so long ago I would have sworn you would rather take a bullet to the chest than even take a second to contemplate the world around you, let alone the world above you."

Enjolras purposely decided to ignore the mocking undertone in Combeferre's voice and answered with a simple shrug. "I don't know any more than you do. It simply happens that they have a calming effect on me, so I like to look at them every so often. And even objectively speaking, stars are beautiful. You shouldn't expect a man to just pass them by without ever looking at them once in his life."

"Actually, you can," Courfeyrac chimed in for some reason. "Look at Pontmercy. He is always so absorbed by his thoughts, I doubt he even noticed there is a sky above us."

As Combeferre rolled his eyes to the sky, as often when Pontmercy was mentioned, Jehan pointed out softly : "you can not blame him for that, Courfeyrac, if he is in love with one of them."

The three of them got into an argument to decide whether or not Pontmercy was actually in love, and Enjolras smiled softly at the stars, thinking that Prouvaire might actually be right about them- like he was about everything.

Life was good.

***

1832

Jehan had been blindfolded. That was the only thing clear to him right now. His memory felt foggy. All he could remember was looking at Bahorel in horror as he got stabbed in the chest. Then lots of noise, screams and shorts, and then a new voice (was it Pontmercy ? It sounded like Pontmercy) dominating all the others. After that he remembered being dragged away in an alley, and trying to scream for help- Enjolras's name, Grantaire's name, anyone that could come and help him.

And red. Lots of red. So much red… everywhere.

He felt someone seize him by the shoulder and push him forward- against a wall. He didn't even need to listen to the declaration of the captain -he guessed it was a captain, a general wouldn't bother with this- to know what was going to happen next.

"Any last words ?"

So many.

He wanted to see his friends one final time, tell them how much he loved them. He wanted to write so many poems, many small verses that would just make one long poem, and claim it to the world.

He wanted to look at everything around him- Paris, his friends, the sky- one final time. He wanted to tell Grantaire all about the sun rising. He wanted to promise them, all of them, that they needed to hope, that the future would surely be brighter, it was only a matter of time. He wanted to tell Enjolras that he needed to look at the stars again, because it might be his final chance to do so.

But he knew he couldn't do any of this- he was out of time.

So all he did was raise his chin proudly and smile. And now he could smile genuinely, because he knew what he believed in- because it was what Enjolras had taught him. Because he had hope for the future, if not for now.

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

***

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

Enjolras clenched his jaw. His hand was still on Combeferre's arm when the shot rang out, and he used it to steady himself as he realized -as they both realized- what the succession of noises meant.

"They killed him !" Combeferre gasped in horror.

Enjolras nodded slowly. He had expected it, they had talked about it- he just didn't expect for this to become real. He didn't imagine a poet could actually die like anyone else, let alone Jean Prouvaire.

But apparently it was real. Not that it could change much, at this point. He knew that he couldn't afford to lose hope- not right now, not until this was over.

But for now…

He turned to the spy attached to the pillar, who still hadn't moved. "Your friends have just shot you," he said.

[crocchompers]

SOME DOODLES OF TOYLAND BC I THINK HE'S JUST THE CUTEST <3

[minusgangtime]

"Sorry, Shelby... But you've been replaced...~"

(@ask-the-kitty-crew (sorry for mentioning you a lot- ;w;))

[jellyfishinajamjar]

Beta Huntlow would have killed Belos’s ass episode one and then spent seven seasons trying to decide if they want to rip each other’s throats out or make out

[imageifnenewasactuallyadaikon]

More doodles from the whiteboard hosted by @/eechytooru

Shhh….don’t tell anyone

Bye, have a great time! (I v I)

[sterek-unhinged]

Derek Hale is a Sigma Male

Okay so in 4x12, Derek talks about how werewolves can change hierarchical ranks right before he dies and then evolves into a full wolf. One might call this ~ a coincidence~, I say that it was cleverly foreshadowing Derek’s transformation into the Sigma he was meant to become.

I promise I’m going somewhere with this lol:

Definition courtesy of urban dictionary

“Sigma Male: A more internally-focused sibling to the alpha male. While the alpha male quantifies himself on his high position in the social hierarchy, a sigma male prefers to forego the social hierarchy and need for external validation altogether and pursue internal strength instead. Essentially a "loner" or a stray man, although sigma males may have a close circle of friends and loved ones with whom they share a deep connection. The sigma male is not socially inept but simply socially disinterested. Prefers solitary activities where he doesn't have to play social politics and can simply focus on himself. The sigma male accepts that he does not need power over others as the alpha male desires, but rather needs only power to control himself and preserve his own autonomy from others. Sigma males are often pragmatic but may be seen by others as aloof, paranoid, secretive or selfish.”

Being an alpha never felt quite right. He seemed more focused on teaching his betas to be self-reliant because that’s what works for him. Being a beta is fine but kind of awkward. Even when he’s technically Scott’s beta, he acts more as an advisor who helps out when he sees it necessary. Scott comes to recognize that, while not an Alpha anymore, Derek’s authority is no less legitimate than his. It’s just that, he needs solitary time and the pack has come to respect that Derek is going to do things his own way. And he’s not an omega, even if he’s physically alone. He still has a network of people he can turn to for help.

By the end of season 4, Derek doesn't just transform into a full wolf. He develops a total mastery over his internal state which is expressed by a full wolf transformation. Why? Because he's on his Sigma grindset and ready for revenge bitch.

[stunt-lads]

Reminder: there is only one thing hotter than Rick v Joe and that's Negan v Spencer

Thanks for listening ✌️

[milk-b0iler]

Trying to at least restrict myself from drawing random and stupid things to any of my Oc’s and other fandom characters before realizing i could draw the dumb shit without any ghosts who circle around, watch me and not telling me it’s “cringe” right in my ear is a bit freeing