Won’t Someone Think Of The Children

“you mocked me once, never do it again!” she cried, furious. “i died that day! and you can die too, for all i care!” she shoved him, and he tumbled down the steep slope.

“as you wish!” he called after her.

“westley?” she said -- and stared at the masked man, hurtling downwards. his voice had been familiar, yes, but it was only with the familiar words that she recognized him.

how could her westley have said such horrible things to her?

“why did you say those things?” she shouted down to him, after he had landed.

“what?”

“why did you say all those awful, cruel things to me?”

he stared up at her, a little black figure, and buttercup felt sad for the first time since humperdinck had proposed to her. the blankness of loss was one thing. the cruelty of a loved one was different, and somehow sharper.

“why did you agree to marry humperdinck?” he called. “i told you i would come back!”

“you were dead!”

“death cannot stop true love! it can only delay it for a while.”

“oh! that is easy for you to say!” she cried. “what if you thought i was dead? what would you have done?”

“not gone off and married some princess, that’s for certain!”

“i already told you, i don’t love humperdinck -- and anyway, he would have had me killed if i hadn’t agreed to marry him! would you have rather i died?”

“buttercup --”

“would you have rather i died?”

he paused, and shook his head.

“you knew the sicilian and his gang had kidnapped me. you could have found out why i married humperdinck, couldn’t you?”

“i heard rumors.”

“rumors of what?”

“well, how cruel he is, how his friend count tyrone has a torture chamber ...”

“how could you have thought that i loved him, then?”

“well, i --”

“how,” she continued, even more angry and even more sad, “could you have thought i would love a scheming tyrant like him? do you really think so badly of me?”

“buttercup, i --”

“at least humperdinck has the decency of telling me how horrible he is! but you -- you tell me that you love me, and at the first doubt you turn on me, you call me faithless, you threaten to strike me!”

“humperdinck threatened to chop your head off!” he yelled, indignant. “how can hitting you be even close to as bad?”

“be quiet!” buttercup exploded, and, surprised by such a vehement command, westley obeyed. “i am sick of you telling me what’s good and what’s bad, what’s right and what’s wrong! you have all these pretty words that you use, but none of them means anything! death can’t stop true love -- well, it mustn’t have been very true, if preventing my own death made you stop loving me. or did you ever actually love me at all?”

and for once, westley had no witty, ready-made answer.

the only true adaptation of les mis is this one

me, sobbing over all these goshdarned adaptions: why isnt bossuet bald? why is he never bald?? hes supposed to be bald???

pxrnbot follows me the day tumblr enacts its new policy.

yeah, doesn’t look like much is gonna really change around here.

Les Miserables AU || Modern || Joly & Jehan

Your beauty overwhelms me As I wrap my arms around you I press your softness tight Great passion fills my inner being I’m captured in your embrace Your eyes control my very soul The touch of your lips, heaven Forever frozen in time All else fades into nothing

trying out another new style, this time with a friend's oc.

"Unbind Me" (you pick who frees whom from what XD)

Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

—

He was just a dog, just a flea-ridden beast, but he was another maia too — Huan, that one of Oromë’s — and under the command of that elf witch he had ruined Sauron.

Blinded, insensate, enraged, terrified, he fled to Taur-nu-Fuin.

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LES MIS RULE 63 Gina Torres as Inspector Javert

Some police officers have a peculiar expression, combining an air of meanness with an air of authority. Javert had this, without the meanness. 

The peasants of the Asturias believe that in every litter of wolves there is one pup that is killed by the mother for fear that on growing up it would devour the other little ones.

Give a human face to this wolf’s whelp, and you have Javert.

Javert was born in a prison. Her mother was a fortune-teller whose husband was in the galleys. She grew up thinking herself outside of society, and despaired of ever entering it. She noticed that society irrevocably closes its doors on two classes of people, those who attack it and those who guard it; she could choose between these two classes only; at the same time she felt that she had a powerful foundation of rectitude, order, and honesty based on an irrepressible hatred for that race to which she belonged. She entered the police. She succeeded. At forty she was an inspector.

Her face consisted of a regal nose, broad cheekbones, and deep brown eyes. One felt ill at ease on first seeing her thick eyebrows and strongly defined nose and lips. When she laughed, which was rarely and terribly, her voluptuous lips parted, showing her teeth. When she laughed, Javert was a tiger; strange, majestic, terrifying. Beyond that, she had an oval face, a square jaw, thick black hair that fell over her shoulders, between the eyes a permanent central crease like an angry star, a gloomy look, and an air of fierce command.

READ ON AO3 • 3,103 / 4,646 WORDS

"Okay, let's go steal the Magisterium."

~

leverage s3 & his dark materials s1 ; alec hardison/parker/eliot spencer ; multichapter ; rated T.

part one: in which the first domino falls.

france: ten

france: twenty

france: thirty

france: forty

france: fifty

france: sixty

france:

france:

france: sixty ten

world: france what are you do—

france: four twenties

world: france stop it

france: four twenties ten

world: france that doesn't even make any sense

france:

france:

france:

world:

france:

world:

france: hundred.