AU where Grantaire is a hugely famous and successful fashion designer aged thirty (like, Alexander McQueen famous), who owns this international multi-billion dollar fashion house, but is also hugely famous for the fact that he’s anonymous, like, only ten trusted people at the top know his real name (one of them is probably Eponine, no, its definitely Eponine, she is his PA), everyone else knows him just as R, most of the people working for him have never even seen him. Outside of his fashion house he lives with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta (he also owns their building which is why the rent is so low but shush they don’t know), who just think he’s their little cynic artist, like, they have no clue what he does because he’s just so vague when asked, ‘sell art shit’ is his usual response. And they keep asking him to come to Les Amis meetings but he just refuses every time.
And so one day he’s working on this really big collection that’s based on the Greek Gods and Eponine rings him one day and is like ‘we’ve found Apollo’, and texts him pictures of Enjolras (whose parents cut him off as usually happens in fanfic, and who Courfeyrac pushed into modelling part time because ‘you are the most beautiful human to exist you’ll make enough doing a week to retire for life’) and Grantaire’s just like ‘Eponine how much photoshop was used no one is that beautiful’ ‘Well see if he lives up to the photos yourself he’s over to your office’ ‘I’m not even at my office’ ‘well get the fuck over there’. And of course Enjolras doesn’t really want to be there because, even though R’s house is really famously progressive and actually does plus-sized stuff it’s still the fashion industry, it’s still a steaming pile of elitist shit. So they get arguing and it gets incredibly heated and after half an hour of outright yelling Grantaire just plays a klaxon noise on his computer and shouts ‘you are hired’, pressing the intercom ‘Eponine I’ve hired the guy, go show him the ropes’.
So begins a month of sexual tension, incredibly argumentative flirting, or flirty arguing, clothes designing and angst. (Grantaire also just keeps gifting Enjolras clothes and Courfeyrac just whines that its not fair that Enjolras gets all that couture when he doesn’t even appreciate it ‘look at this leather jacket Enj, it is one of a kind, it has been perfectly tailored for you, this is the bespoke of bespoke, we do not leave it on the floor!’)
And finally one day after the Joly-Bossuet-Musichetta trio have wheedled and whined and poked and prodded Grantaire for a week he finally throws up his hands and says ‘if it’s at a bar and I can drink I will come to your stupid activist meeting’. So they head off and its all nice and the leader isn’t there yet so they introduce him to everyone and they all chat and make friends and Grantaire thinks ‘this isn’t bad, I may enjoy myself’. Then Courfeyrac looks towards the door and says brightly ‘ah here comes our fearless leader’. And Grantaire looks over as well and the fearless leader is, of course, Enjolras and Grantaire just thinks ‘of all the activist groups in France my friends frequent the same one that my crush and employee who I argue with on a daily basis runs, of course’. And Enjolras comes over and stops still, Combeferre starts to introduce him and Enjolras just stops him and is like ‘R what are you doing here!?’ and everyone’s like ‘you know each other?’ and Enjolras turns to Combeferre and Courfeyrac and says ‘this is my boss’.
Everything goes to shit for an hour.
The meeting never actually happens.
They’re too busy interrogating Grantaire.
‘You own R? You’re R! We’ve lived with you since college and you never told us!’
‘You’re R! Your clothes are works of art I am not worthy!’
‘How did you keep this secret for ten years!’
‘I am going to kill Eponine I can’t believe she never told us!’
*Courfeyrac is cannot evening*
‘Grantaire I am legitimately impressed by your ability to maintain a double life, have you ever considered fighting crime?’
‘How did you not know I ran this activist group! How!’
‘You own our fucking building! You give us rent money every month! You pay yourself to live in your own flat!’
Eventually things calm down. Eponine is not allowed to live down the fact that she knew everything and never told anyone.
Everyone begins operation ‘get E and R together’. Chaos ensues, Enjolras and Grantaire get together, life is good.
Grantaire ends up hooking Courf up with clothing that hasn’t even reached the stores yet.
Courf also models part time because Of course Courf always puts on his best clothes and practically poses whenever Grantaire comes in a room and eventually he just sighs and is just
“If I let you model my new line, will you please stop acting like a tool?”
*excited Courf noises*
Chetta convinces R to make a sexy sleep wear for both men and woman AND OF COURSE HE HAS THE TRUSTY POLY TRIO MODEL DOWN THE RUNWAY IN IT BECAUSE FUCK IT //Enjolras also models, but he ends up not wearing it long after he gets off the catwalk//
He gifts feuilly so many different kinds of comfortable and stylish work clothes.
He also makes Bahorel fitted and high quality work out gear
Marius gets socks as an inside joke, but does end up giving him the occasional suit for dates
Cosette gets dresses. All the dresses.
Entertainingly someone asked me for more headcanons (yours are awesome btw) when I originally made this post, so I came up with the story of how Cosette managed to blackmail Grantaire into designing her a wedding dress for free.
And this is like, the most beautiful Disney princess dress.
It is something along these lines:
But definitely once Grantaire is outed as the fashion designer R he just throws clothes at everyone.
Especially Jehan.
He has been holding back on it for so long but Jehan needs someone who can actually fashion to do his clothes.
Grantaire doesn’t particularly care that Jehan dresses in an outlandish, loud and ridiculously flamboyant manner, he just cares that Jehan has the fashion sense of a blind raccoon, so designs an extensive, coherent wardrobe of snazzy, flowy, loud and flamboyant clothes.
It also explains several things, such as ‘I knew the van Gogh in the hall was real! Grantaire you little shit you convinced me it was a copy for four years!’ for the trusty poly trio.
Life with them is just ridiculous for R for several weeks after the big reveal.
Because they keep just asking him shit ‘what else didn’t we know!’ ‘Do you have a long lost twin?’ ‘Are you married?’ ‘Is Grantaire even your real name?’ ‘If you own the building why don’t we live in one of the biggest flats, Mrs. Simplice from No. 55 has a motherfucking ballroom, why can’t we have a ballroom!’ ‘What do you even do with all your money!’ You lied to us for ten years, how can we ever trust you again!’ *Joly looks at his coffee* ‘I don’t even know if this is actually decaf, I don’t know anything anymore, my best friend has been lying to me for all these years!’
They are so melodramatic and R is so done with their shit.
Due to a typo, your local store/mall/etc. put out a request for an appearance by Satan instead of Santa. He follows through with the request.
He shows up and reads through the entire job contract, notes the spelling ‘Santa’ and just corrects each one with a red pen. He eyes the mall representative, who is sweating bullets, but says nothing about the fact that the contracts he’s making are with children, or that they don’t involve souls of any kind. He signs on the bottom line in a strange, bony quill. There’s a strange red flash, and the mall rep is super reluctant to ask. Or touch the contract.
Satan wears the red suit and the hat and the boots, if awkwardly (those cloven hooves, don'tchaknow).
The elves stand well away, but he’s hardly bothered by that, casually waiting on a throne that’s far more cheerful and composed of significantly less bone than the one he’s used to.
The children are hesitant at first, until a little girl marches up, sans-parents, and plops herself on his knee, looking up at him with the set jaw of someone who isn’t interested in this farce.
“I want a pony,” she says with a roll of her eyes. She’s no more than nine. He arches an eyebrow
“Do you?” he asks. She scoffs.
“Tch, no, but you’re just a man in a suit, it’s not like you can’t get me what I want.”
He smiles at her assertiveness and steeples his fingers, careful not to jostle her from her perch.
“Try me.”
She narrows her eyes at him, studying his inscrutable face before folding her arms.
“There’s a bully at my school, and I want him to go away,” she said. His eyebrow arched a little higher and he tilted his head.
“And if I do this, I believe the standard contract is that you will be a ‘good girl’ and behave appropriately towards your most favored parent?’ he replied. The child rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, sure,” she says. He nods and holds out his hand, which curls around hers entirely when she puts hers out.
“It will be done.”
After that, the children are a lot less hesitant, although several adults attempt to leave. Several hundred bargains are made. For toys. For new family. For present family to suffer. For puppies. And kittens. For understanding. For acceptance.
He declines anything borne of pettiness - of momentary squabbles between jealous children - and redirects them towards more productive desires.
He turns away anyone over the age of eighteen, though several adults attempt to approach. Later they are plagued with horrible nightmares.
At the end of each day, he returns to the underworld and assembles teams of demons, handing out assignments to each of them, to be researched heavily and then executed the night of December 24th. The demons are confused, but do as they’re told, because the dark lord’s edicts are undeniable. His secretary gives him an odd look, but Satan is immune to searching looks, and says nothing, just retires to his room, gets up in the morning, has his coffee, and returns to the mall, donning the suit and heading for the chair.
At the end of the week, he has made more than a thousand deals. The demon hordes are scurrying back and forth between hell and the physical plane.
There are many confused parents, come Christmas morning. Some find themselves with various pets they don’t remember registering for. Others with children. Others still find that their children have undergone some sort of personality shift, to the delight of their siblings.
The first girl is bitter in her heart as she opens gifts, until a letter is personally delivered by a strange mailman, detailing the removal of a teacher from the school she attends. She reads and rereads the letter after her parents finish with it, heart beating strangely lighter in her chest. Her parents are bemused and delighted about the hugs she gives them, and about the enthusiasm with which she ravages her other presents.
They are far less bemused by the black, hellfire-maned pony that is left on their doorstep, a tag attached to the pommel of the saddle that reads, ‘To Katie, Regards, Satan’
Traditional fantasy-based MMO classes redesigned for a post-apocalyptic setting: ( 5 / 9 ) bards
Given the somewhat whimsical nature of the original class, I struggled with translating bards into something more realistic before my friend Fal suggested going in the direction of rally leaders, which ended up working out great. (They started out as more straightforward rock starlets, which would have been adequate but not very unique, I think.)
The core imagery was taken from girls’ cheerleader uniforms and – due to the aggressive un-cuteness of most male cheerleadering uniforms – stereotypical ouendan clothes. I wanted both outfits to be moderately fanservice-y but easy to move in and somewhat durable.
Bards are heavily skewed towards long-distance support, so their defensive gear is a bit more for looks than functionality. They wear lacrosse leg guards and thigh guards, while their arm braces are a stacked combination of bite sleeves, police arm guards and heavy-duty gloves. MMA chestplates are optional.
Buffs and debuffs are cast by shouting cheers/chants and rallying cries through a megaphone. A portable speaker cobbled together with a backpacking strap set can be appended to the megaphone in order to increase range and effectiveness. Cheer flags serve the same function as megaphones, but can’t be enhanced with speakers; in exchange, they can be wielded like bo staffs for close- to mid-range combat.
In the dog world, humans are elves that routinely live to be 500+ years old.
“They live so long…but the good ones still bond with us for our entire lives.”
“These immortals are so kind we must be good friends to them”
My heart wtf
Not gonna lie, this fucked me up a bit.
POV Fantasy slice of life book when?
“Now I am old. The fur around my muzzle is grey and my joints ache when we walk together. Yet she remains unchanged, her hair still glossy, her skin still fresh, her step still sprightly. Time doesn’t touch her and yet I love her still.”
in happier news I had a student answer the question “what is in the room” with “a pretty professor” and spent the next twenty seconds incapable of speech as I tried not to inhale coffee and die, so there’s a good language professor/student au for yall
humans getting a reputation amongst the galaxy for doing totally absurd and reckless things, like making absolutely ridiculous flight paths through asteroid belts, or hitting warp speed for a five mile trip, or devoting 90% of the power of a ship’s onboard computer to their personal laptop so they can torrent abba’s discography, or mixing rocket fuel with mentos to see what happens
and at first other species are like….. okay we’d better not have humans on the crew if they’re this dangerous….. but then when they notice the humans are actually getting a lot more done and advancing super fast because they take such absurd risks “just to see if it works” it becomes commonplace to have a group of at least four humans on every ship in the fleet
no other species previously had a word in their language that equated to “fuck it” but within a century “fuck it” is regarded as an immensely wise proverb
Scenario One
“Now we must be careful as there is still the question of how territorial the wildlife in this area is-“ The jalaxian fleet commander says, standing in front of their crew, ready to lead a slow and calculated expedition through an unexplored forest on an uncharted world.
“SPACE PUPPIES!” The human medic exclaims, barging past, picking up a small tentacled beast. It appears to be friendly, welcoming the contact.
“… Well, I suppose that answers that.”
Scenario Two
Zampushian: “Captain! The space pirates are hot on our tail and with their firepower we could never hope to outrun them! I can send a beacon to the fleet-”
Human: “Nah. It’s cool. Just put all the power to the shields.”
Zampushian: “But Captain-”
Human: “Trust me, dude!”
[The Zampushian transfers all available power to the shield modules. The ship, unable to move now, slows to a halt. The space pirate ship barrels forwards and crashes into the ship, exploding on impact, with no damage to the fleet ship.]
Human: “See? Everything’s chill. Do we have any chips left?”
Scenario Three
An Ungrampish crew member working aboard a multi-species fleet ship goes into the ship’s cargo bay to move some equipment. Tye (that’s the pronoun they use on Ungramp) is greeted by the sight of a human eating an entire Ungrampish chilli pepper, the hottest in the known universe, just to see what happens.
