~characters that should be part of les amis because I said so and I like them~
Marius definitely. I've heard people say he technically isn't an ami but if he isn't already, he definitely should be one.
Musichetta. we need to get us more female amis, and also she just seems like she would be good for it. and I like her. so yeah.
Eponine and Cosette. Eponine slightly more so because she actually fought, but also I need to see Cosette interact with the other barricade boys because it would be so amazing
Gavroche. this one's obvious. if he isn't already, he should be. MVP of the barricade this kid.
Montparnasse only because he's their age and it would be extremely funny. he would contribute absolutely fucking nothing. literally less than grantaire and it would be hilarious.
thank you for coming to my ted talk, the criteria for this was literally just
-is young
-would have interesting relationships with the rest of them
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So, I wrote a little piece for my atla/npmd au (it's really just, what if Hatchetfield had bending) so here it is!
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"Are you ready?"
Max snorts and rolls his shoulders back, settling into a wide, defensive stance. Richie doesn't notice the quiet shaking in his hands, or the way his eyes dart around, searching for an escape. Perhaps he should have, but he doesn't. Instead, shrugs and shifts his feet.
It's a straightforward punch, a lick of flame flowing from the movement and out past his limbs. It flies directly towards Max's chest. Just a warm-up shot, simple, easy to block or dodge.
But Max doesn't move.
There's no shaking of earth, his feet are planted, and he seems just as unmoving as the stone he bends. His eyes are trained on that spurt of golden-orange fire, the glow illuminating panic for a brief second. His body crumples in on itself just before it hits. The blow isn't forceful, but it's enough to make him stumble back over his own feet and find himself sprawled on the floor.
Richie lets his stance fall. He stares, in awe. He just knocked Max Jägerman to the ground. That comes with the much more panic-fueled realisation that holy shit, he just knocked Max Jägerman to the ground! His body, luckily, moves faster than his mind, and he's next to Max in seconds. "Are you okay?"
Max stares up at him, unresponsive, for a few seconds, the only noise between them the gasping breaths he drags into his lungs. "I'm fine," he grits out, between puffs. He ignores the offered hand and hauls himself to his feet. "Let's go again."
Richie opens his mouth to protest, and Max shoots him a look that makes him instantly close it again. They settle into their stances once more.
Max doesn't block the second time, or the third, or the fourth. Richie doesn't shoot on the fifth.
"Come on, Shit-lips, we gonna stand here all day or what?"
Richie's hands fall. "I'm not doing this," he mutters.
"What did you say?"
"I said, I'm not doing this," he repeats louder. Max's eyes darken. "There's obviously something going on. Definition of insanity and whatnot. I'm not gonna keep throwing fire at you and hoping something different will happen."
"And I will, but this doesn't look much like helping!"
Max takes a step forward. The ground is suddenly unsteady. "You said you would help me."
"It's working fine."
"That's a lie and you know it," he spits back.
"We go again."
"I won't do it."
Max is so close to him now. The literal monster looms tall over him, scowling down. "I'm not asking, Shit-lips," he growls. And Richie, by some miracle, finds it in himself to scoff.
"What, are you threatening me?" His eyes narrow. There's heat building in his hands, he lets it bleed out into small flames, flickering as they wind around his fingers. The second Max sees it, he's cast onto the back foot. He steps– no, leaps back, scrambling away from Richie with all the desperation of a cornered animal. And Richie finally sees it, painted across his face in broad strokes, clear as day. Fear.
He clenches his fists tight, and lets the fire dissipate into thin wisps of smoke. "We're not doing this," he repeats, finally.
Max doesn't look at him, not as he approaches, not and he settles next to him or places a warm hand on his chest, bringing his breathing back to normal. "You're afraid of fire," Richie says. It's not a question.
"You don't fucking tell a soul," he whispers, as gruffly as he can manage. It's no use; the illusion is shattered. He's not Max Jägerman, Literal Monster. Richie isn't the helpless nerd. They're two boys, sitting side-by-side on the gym floor.
"I promise," Richie whispers back. And Max believes him.
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it's cute when fics do the thing where eddie's going through steve's music collection and he's bullying the shit out of him and then cuts him some slack when he finds some Queen bc they're "decent" I think eddie would love Queen bc they're great AND he thinks they're cool as shit for doing drag. also he senses a certain kinship when he looks at freddie mercury.
(he wouldn't tell steve he's into queen tho bc he's a little shit and he will not admit he shares the same taste as STEVE HARRINGTON even tho they're literally fucking dating ??)
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