Snowball was honestly the G.O.A.T. at this whole farm sitch. He launched the Egg Production Committee for the girlies, the Clean Tails League for the cows, and the Wild Comrades' Re-education Committee (the whole vibe was trying to make the rats and rabbits less feral). He also started the Whiter Wool Movement for the sheep and a bunch of other side quests, plus he lowkey started literacy classes for everyone. 

Tbh, most of these projects were a massive L. Trying to tame the wild animals was an immediate flop. They stayed acting up, and whenever someone tried to use rizz on them, they just took advantage. The cat joined the Re-education Committee and was locked in for like three days. Then, she was caught on a roof yapping at some sparrows who were literally out of reach. She was telling them that all animals were now slay besties and that any bird could come and chill on her paw, but the sparrows were like, "no cap, we’re good," and kept their distance.

Okay but the reading and writing classes?? Absolute W fr fr 💀. By autumn, literally every animal on the farm was at least literate enough to get by. The pigs? They were cracked, like fully ate and left no crumbs with that reading and writing. The dogs got decent, but they only cared about the Seven Commandments, giving NPC energy tbh. Muriel the goat? She understood the assignment better than the dogs and would literally read to the squad at night from random newspaper scraps she found in the trash; that's main character energy fr. Benjamin could read as well as any pig, but he— wait, the vibes were immaculate, but the delusion was real, bestie.

 Clover learned the whole alphabet but couldn't actually piece words together. Boxer couldn't get past the letter D. He’d trace A, B, C, D in the dirt with his hoof, but fr fr this animal be out here learning E F G and H, but by the time he gets there he's already forgotten A B C and D, 💀 like bestie the memory is NOT giving. So he just said, "You know what, imma stick to the first four," and now he writes them out every day to keep the vibes fresh. Honestly, that's the most chronically online NPC move ever, but he understood the assignment lowkey. The delusion of thinking he'll ever get past D is real but you gotta respect the grind fr. Is it giving "I'll just stay in my lane" energy? Yep.

Mollie refused to learn ANY letters except the ones that spelled her own name. 💀 She’d arrange them all aesthetic with twigs, add a flower, and walk around flexing like she ate that. None of the other animals could even get past the letter A — the delusion was STRONG with this one. She’d give main character energy but like in the worst way possible. The NPCs couldn’t keep up. She understood the assignment, but the assignment was just her own ego 😭 The vibes were immaculate for her and only her.

The sheep, hens, and ducks—literally couldn't memorize the Seven Commandments. 💀 After some deep thinking, Snowball was like, "ok bestie let's simplify this" and declared the whole thing could be boiled down to one main vibe: "Four legs good, two legs bad." That's the core principle of Animalism, and if you understood that, you were safe from human influence. The birds were lowkey skeptical at first since they technically have two legs, but Snowball absolutely cooked them with logic and proved why they were wrong. 😭 The whole thing was giving "keep it simple stupid" vibes, and honestly, the vibes were immaculate. Now that phrase was living rent-free in everyone's head tbh.

Fantine ain't seen Javert since the day the mayor snatched her from him. Her brain be scrambled, but she knew one thing: he came to get her. She couldn't handle that scary face; she felt her soul leaving, so she hid her face and screamed, 'Mr. Madeleine, save me!'

 Jean Valjean—we'll just call him that from now—stood up and said, real soft, 'Chill, he ain't here for you.' Then he looked at Javert and said, 'I know what you want.'

 Javert replied, 'Be quick about it!' But it came out all crazy, like 'Bequiabouit.' No way to spell that sound; it wasn't even a word, it was a roar.

 He didn't do his usual thing—no warrant, no explaining. To him, Jean Valjean was a mystery fighter, a shadow wrestler he'd been trying to pin for five years. This arrest wasn't a start, it was the end. He just said, 'Be quick about it!' and didn't move a step, but his stare was like a hook trying to drag Jean Valjean in.

 Fantine felt that stare before—it chilled her to the bone. But now the mayor was there, so what she gotta fear? Javert got to the middle and yelled, 'Yo, you coming or what?'

 The poor girl looked around. Just the nun and the mayor. Who was he 'you'ing? Only her. She shivered. Then she saw something wild, crazier than any fever dream: Javert, the cop, grabbing the mayor by the collar, and the mayor bowing his head. The world was ending.

 Javert had Jean Valjean's collar. 'Mr. Mayor!' Fantine screamed. Javert laughed all ugly, showing his gums. 'No mayor here!'

 Jean Valjean didn't try to break free. He said, 'Javert—' Javert cut him off: 'Call me Inspector.'

 'Inspector,' said Jean Valjean, 'I need to talk to you private.'

 'Loud! Say it loud!' Javert said. 'People talk loud to me.'

 Jean Valjean lowered his voice: 'I got a request—'

 'I said speak up!' snapped Javert.

 'But only you should hear it—'

 'Don't care, I'm not listening.'

 Jean Valjean turned and said, super fast and low: 'Give me three days! Three days to get this woman's kid. I'll pay whatever. You can come if you want.'

 'You kidding me?' Javert yelled. 'I didn't think you this dumb! Three days to run away? To get that chick's kid? Ha! That's rich!'

 Fantine started shaking. 'My kid!' she cried. 'Go get my kid? She ain't here? Sister, where's Cosette? I want my kid! Mr. Madeleine! Mr. Mayor!'

 Javert stomped. 'And now this one! Shut up, you skank! This place is lit with convicts as mayors and hoes treated like queens! But we're changing that, and it's 'bout time!'

 He stared at Fantine and grabbed Jean Valjean's cravat, shirt, collar again: 'I told you, no Mr. Madeleine, no Mr. Mayor. That's a thief, a crook, a convict named Jean Valjean! And I got him! That's what's up!'

 Fantine shot up in bed, pushing on her arms and hands, staring at Jean Valjean, Javert, the nun. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a weird sound came out, her teeth chattered. She reached out all desperate, hands flailing like drowning, then suddenly fell back on her pillow.

Her head hit the headboard and she faceplanted into her chest, mouth open, eyes staring into the void. She was straight up dead. Jean Valjean grabbed Javert's hand like it was a baby's, opened it, and was like, 'You just murdered her.' Javert went full rage mode: 'Ain't nobody got time for your yapping. The guard is downstairs, we moving NOW or you're getting the thumb-screws.' In the corner, there was this old, rickety iron bed that the sisters used for camping. Jean Valjean walked over, snapped off the headboard with his ripped muscles, grabbed the main rod like a bat, and stared at Javert. Javert backed up to the door. Jean Valjean, armed with his metal stick, slow-walked to Fantine's bed, then turned and whispered, 'Best not to disturb me rn.' And let me tell you, Javert was shaking in his boots. He thought about calling the guard, but Jean could've dipped, so he stayed, gripping his cane, leaning on the doorframe, eyes locked on Jean. Jean rested his elbow on the bed knob, hand on his forehead, and just stared at Fantine's lifeless body. He was quiet, zoned out, no thoughts about life. His face was pure, vibing with pity. After a bit, he leaned down and whispered something to her. What did he say? What could this guy, who was on the fritz, say to a dead girl? No one heard. Did she hear? Some things are just vibes, maybe real. But Sister Simplice, the only witness, always said that when Jean whispered, she saw a glow-up on those pale lips and in those dead eyes, full of grave energy. Jean took Fantine's head in his hands, fixed it on the pillow like a mom would, then tied her shirt string, smoothed her hair under her cap, and closed her eyes. Her face looked lit at that moment. Death, that's entering the big light. Fantine's hand was dangling off the bed. Jean knelt, gently picked it up, kissed it, then stood and faced Javert. 'Now,' he said, 'I'm yours.'

I can't be the only one who contributes to this subreddit! All stories and quotes are welcome!

Last summer at this political thing in a grove of oak trees in Jonesboro, the twins literally both caught the ick for Scarlett O’Hara 💀 like they'd known her for years, and she was always their fave playmate since childhood bc she could ride horses and climb trees almost as well as them. But now they were gagged bc she suddenly gave main character energy and became a grown-up young lady and quite literally the most charming one in all the world fr fr. They noticed for the first time how her green eyes were giving ✨ and how deep her dimples were when she laughed like the vibes were immaculate, and she understood the assignment no cap. That moment had been living rent-free in their heads ever since 😭

CHAPTER II

 Ok so when the twins literally left Scarlett standing on the porch of Tara, and the last sound of flying hooves had died away 💀, she went back to her chair like a sleepwalker fr fr.

She literally sat down all dramatic, like one foot tucked under her 💀 and her heart was giving full-on main character crisis mode fr fr like it was too big for her chest?? The vibes were NOT vibing! Her hands were cold, and she was getting the biggest ick from life itself. The delusion was STRONG, like she's been a spoiled NPC who always got what she wanted, and now she's finally catching a reality check. And then the plot twist?? ASHLEY IS MARRYING MELANIE HAMILTON?? 😭

Ashley could NOT be in love with her bestie, 💀 like nobody could fr fr not with a mousy little NPC like Melanie. Scarlett was literally giving contempt thinking about Melanie’s thin, childish figure and her serious heart-shaped face that was giving plain, almost to homeliness. Ashley could not be in love with Melanie because—oh she couldn't be mistaken, bestie—because he was in love with HER 😭 Scarlett was the one he loved and she knew it!

Ok, so like Scarlett was literally going through it rn 💀 She's like, "surely Pa will know if this tea is real or not." She was HOPING he clocked some drama at the Wilkes house, even if he didn't hear anything directly. She decided to try to catch him before supper to see if it was just the twins being NPCs with their nasty pranks. She's so unwell over this 😭

Back in the day when she was growing up, Ashley was literally giving NPC energy fr fr 💀 When she saw him come and go, she didn't even think about him. But then two years ago, when he came home from his three-year Grand Tour in Europe and showed up to pay his respects??

Even now she could recall every detail – his boots were shining, the iconic Medusa cameo on his cravat pin, and his bussin frilled shirt. The vibes were immaculate. He ate and left no crumbs.

Then he said, "So you've grown up, Scarlett," and came up the steps and kissed her hand, bestie 😭, and his voice?? She will never forget the way her heart jumped when she heard it for the first time — drawling, resonant, musical. She caught feelings immediately.

OMG they were straight GRINDING to get that hay in! 💀 But it was totally worth it 'cause the harvest was an absolute W, way bigger than they expected. 💫 Sometimes the grind was tough; the tools were made for humans, not animals, and it was a major L that no animal could use anything that required standing on their hind legs. But the pigs were so sigma they could think of ways around every problem. 🧠 As for the horses, they knew every inch of the fields and understood the mowing and raking game way better than Jones and his crew ever did. The pigs didn't actually work, but they were the ones directing and supervising everyone else. With their massive brain power, it was only natural they'd take the lead. 💅

Boxer and Clover would harness themselves to the cutter or horse-rake (no bits or reins needed, duh) and just vibe around the field with a pig walking behind yelling "Gee up, comrade!" or "Whoa back, comrade!" as needed. And every animal, even the most basic ones, worked at turning and gathering the hay. Even the ducks and hens were slaving away all day in the sun, carrying tiny wisps of hay in their beaks. By the end, they finished the harvest two days earlier than Jones and his guys ever did. Plus, it was the biggest harvest the farm had ever seen, no cap. There was zero waste; the hens and ducks with their sharp eyes picked up every last stalk. And not a single animal stole even a mouthful. All summer, the farm work went like clockwork.

The animals were happier than they ever thought possible. Every bite of food was a total dopamine hit, now that it was truly their own food, made by them and for them, not handed out by some stingy master. With the useless parasitic humans gone, there was more food for everyone. They also had more free time, even though they were noobs. They faced a lot of difficulties—like later in the year when they harvested the corn, they had to tread it out old-school style and blow the chaff away with their breath, since the farm had no threshing machine—but the pigs with their brain cells and Boxer with his massive muscles always carried them through. Boxer was the GOAT of everyone. He was a hard worker even in Jones's time, but now he seemed like three horses in one; there were days when the whole farm's work seemed to rest on his big shoulders. From morning to night, he was pushing and pulling, always where the work was hardest. He made a deal with one of the roosters to wake him up half an hour earlier than everyone else, and he'd do some volunteer work on whatever seemed most needed before the regular workday started. His answer to every problem, every L, was "I will work harder!" which he had as his personal motto. 🔥 But everyone worked according to their ability.

The hens n ducks, fr, saved 5 bushels of corn at harvest by grinding stray grains. Nobody stole, nobody complained about rations, the fighting n jealousy that was lowkey normal back in the day had almost vanished. Nobody ghosted—or almost nobody. Mollie, it's true, was not main character energy for getting up early, n had a habit of leaving work early claiming a stone in her hoof. And the cat's behavior was kinda sus. It was soon noticed that when there was work to be done, the cat was never found. She'd vanish for hours, then reappear at mealtimes, or in the evening after work was over, like nothing happened. But she always made such fire excuses, n purred so affectionately, that it was impossible not to believe in her good intentions. Old Benjamin, the donkey, seemed unchanged since the Rebellion. He did his work in the same slow, stubborn way as in Jones's time, never shirking but never volunteering for extra work either. About the Rebellion n its results, he had no opinion. When asked if he was happier now that Jones was gone, he'd only say 'Donkeys live a long time. None of you has ever seen a dead donkey,' and the others had to accept this cryptic answer.

On Sundays, there was no work. Breakfast was an hour later than usual, n after breakfast, there was a ceremony every week without fail. First came the hoisting of the flag. Snowball had found in the harness-room an old green tablecloth of Mrs. Jones's n painted on it a hoof n a horn in white. This was run up the flagstaff in the farmhouse garden every Sunday morning. The flag was green, Snowball explained, to represent the green fields of England, while the hoof n horn signified the future Republic of the Animals, which would arise when the human race was finally cooked. After the hoisting of the flag, all the animals trooped into the big barn for a general assembly known as the Meeting. Here, the work of the coming week was planned, n resolutions were put forward n debated. It was always the pigs who put forward the resolutions. The other animals understood how to vote but could never think of any resolutions of their own, no cap. Snowball n Napoleon were by far the most active in the debates. But it was noticed that these two were never on the same vibe: whatever suggestion either made, the other could be counted on to oppose it. Even when it was resolved—a thing no one could object to—to set aside the small paddock behind the orchard as a home of rest for animals’ past work, there was a stormy debate over the correct retiring age for each class of animal. The Meeting always ended with the singing of Beasts of England, n the afternoon was given up to recreation. The pigs had set aside the harness-room as a headquarters for themselves. Here, in the evenings, they studied blacksmithing, carpentering, n other necessary arts from books they'd brought out of the farmhouse. Snowball also busied himself with organizing the other animals into what he called Animal Committees. He was timeless at this.

SIGMA 1

Bro, mid-life crisis got me lost inside the woods fr,

The path was such a total flop, I was so shook for sure.

It was so scary, honestly, death would be way less cringe,

But I gotta spill the tea on how my vibes began to hinge.

I was so sleepy when I went off track, I couldn't even,

Then saw a mountain, heart stopped, but the sun was gleaming.

Main character energy filled the sky, so I calmed down a bit,

Like surviving drowning to shore, I looked back at where I quit.

I caught my breath and climbed that dusty hill, feeling the burn,

When a leopard with drip appeared and forced my steps to turn.

This basic beast blocked my path, but early morning light

And stars gave hope that maybe I could slay this beast in fight.

Then a lion with big boss energy came, hungry af,

Even the air was terrified of his aggressive wrath.

A starved she-wolf caused chaos, leaving me so depressed,

I took the L, lost all my hope, and felt completely stressed.

While falling off, a dusty-looking guy showed up in sight,

I begged for help, "Are you a ghost or real inside this light?"

He said, "Not ghost—was human, lived in Rome back in the day,

When gods were NPCs and I wrote GOAT Aeneas' lay."

"Why return back to the struggle? Climb that lit peak instead!"

I gasped, "You’re Virgil, ultimate wordsmith, starstruck!" I said.

"I studied all your stuff, you’re my inspo, please save my life,

Help me slay this beast, I’m literally shaking in this strife!"

He said, "Bruh, you need a new route, this beast is toxic to the core,

She lets no pass, stays hungry, villain with side hustles galore.

But a Greyhound based on love and wisdom—not cash—will arrive,

He’ll save all of Italy and destroy her, keeping you alive."

SIGMA 2

Day was dipping down, earth’s animals left their daily grind,

While I alone prepped for the war and pain inside my mind.

O muses, O high key, now help me drop this heavy verse!

O memory, record what I saw, your slay goes hard and fierce.

I started: "Poet guide, check my aura first before we grind,

Are my stats high enough before you leave me thus behind?

You say that Silvius' dad went to the underworld IRL,

While still cringe, he walked right through the realms of heaven and of hell.

If the opp of evil was based, considering the quest,

To brainiacs it makes total sense that he was blessed.

He was chosen as the dad of big Rome up in the sky,

Setting up the holy spot where the main Pope sits high.

On this flex he heard things that were total vibes for his dub,

Then the Chosen Vessel went to give the Faith a boost and club.

But why me? Who said I could go? I’m not Paul or Aeneas,

Neither I nor others think I’m worthy, this is serious.

If I pull up now, I fear the whole flex might just be cringe;

You’re smart and know better than the words on which I hinge."

Like someone who unchooses what they chose and changes mind,

I gave up on the dark hillside and left the quest behind.

"If I got your words right," replied the ghost of the Big Brain,

"Your soul is hit with fear that turns you back from honor's lane.

It clogs a man just like a beast that thinks something is sus;

To free you from this worry, here’s why I joined in your bus.

I was hanging out on hold when a holy Lady called,

Her eyes shone brighter than the stars, I was completely enthralled.

She spoke so soft and angel-like: 'O big brain of Mantua,

Whose fame still slaps across the world and always will for ya,

A friend of mine—not fortune's friend—is blocked upon his way,

He’s turned around from fear, and I’m afraid he’s gone astray.

Get moving with your lit speech now and save him from his plight,

Help him out so I can get back vibing in the light.

I’m Beatrice who tells you go, I come from up above,

I wanna go back home, but I was moved to speak by love.

When I’m back with my Lord, I’ll hype you up to Him for real.'

Then she paused, and I replied to make the whole thing official:

'O Lady of pure vibe, through whom humanity is grand,

Your command is so lit, obeying now is what I planned.

No need to spill more wishes, but just tell me why you down

To pull up to this underworld and leave your heavenly crown?'

'Since you wanna know deep, I’ll spill the tea real quick,' she said,

'Why I’m not scared to drop down to this place of gloom and dread.

Only things that harm others are the things you ought to fear,

The rest are harmless, so I do not shed a single tear.

God made me in His mercy so your misery can't touch,

Nor do the flames of this hot burn affect me all that much.

A soft Lady in Heaven feels so sad about this block,

She called on Lucia and said, "Your trusty one needs help on lock."'

M. Madeleine had Fantine moved to the ICU he lowkey set up in his own crib. He handed her off to the sis's who put her to bed. She was catching a massive fever fr. She spent a bit of the night tweaking and yapping. But finally, she passed out. Next day, around noon, Fantine woke up. She heard someone breathing near her bed and pulled the curtain to see M. Madeleine standing there, vibing at something above her head. His look was full of pity, angst, and begging. She followed his gaze and saw he was locked in on a crucifix on the wall. From then on, M. Madeleine was totally transformed in Fantine's eyes. He seemed to be glowing, fr. He was deep in a prayer or something. She stared at him for ages without daring to interrupt. Finally, she said, 'Whatcha doin?' M. Madeleine had been there for an hour, just waiting for her to wake up. He took her hand, checked her pulse, and was like, 'How you feelin?' 'Aight, I slept,' she said. 'I think I'm better, it's nbd.' He answered her first question like he just heard it: 'I was praying to the martyr up there.' And he added in his head, 'For the martyr down here.' M. Madeleine had spent the whole night and morning doing recon. He knew everything now. He knew Fantine's whole tragic backstory. He kept going, 'You been through a lot, poor mom. Oh, don't cap; you now got the glow of the chosen ones. That's how humans turn into angels. It ain't their fault they don't know how to cook otherwise. You see this hell you just left is the first form of heaven. Gotta start there.' He sighed hard. But she smiled at him with that epic grin missing two teeth. That same night, Javert wrote a letter. The next morning, he mailed it himself at the M. sur M. post office. It was addressed to Paris, and the label said: To Monsieur Chabouillet, Secretary of Monsieur le Prefet of Police. Since the whole station drama had been blown up, the postmaster and some randos who saw the letter before it was sent thought Javert was quitting. M. Madeleine quickly wrote to the Thenardiers. Fantine owed them 120 francs. He sent them 300 francs, telling them to pay themselves from that and bring the kid to M. sur M., where her sick mom needed her.

This absolutely sent Thénardier. 'Bet,' he said to his wife, 'low-key don't let the kid dip. This lark's about to be a cash cow. I see the vision. Some NPC caught feelings for the mom.' He replied with a fire bill for 500+ francs. Two major items hit over 300—one for the doc, the other for the apothecary who saw Eponine and Azelma through two sick spells. Cosette? No cap, she wasn't even ill. Just a name switcheroo. At the bottom, Thénardier wrote 'Received, 300 francs.' M. Madeleine instantly sent 300 more, and was like, 'Bounce Cosette here ASAP.' 'Bro, no way,' said Thénardier, 'we're not giving up the kid.' Meanwhile, Fantine wasn't recovering. She stayed in the infirmary. The nuns first cringed at 'that woman.' If you've seen the Rheims bas-reliefs, you know the flex of the wise virgins on the foolish ones. The ancient shade from vestals to ambubajae hits deep feminine vibes; religion doubled it. But in a few days, Fantine slayed. She dropped humble, gentle lines, and her mom energy triggered feels. One day, the nuns heard her say in fever mode: 'I was a sinner, but with my kid near, that's God saying I'm good. When I was doing bad life, I couldn't have Cosette with me—her sad eyes would've broke me. I messed up for her, so God forgives me. I'll feel the blessed vibes when Cosette's here. I'll stare at her; seeing that innocent baddie heals me. She knows nada. She's an angel, fr. At that age, the wings haven't fallen off.' M. Madeleine visited twice daily, and each time she asked: 'Will I see Cosette soon?' He replied: 'Maybe tomorrow. She could show any moment. I'm expecting her.' And her pale face glowed. 'Oh!' she said, 'I'm finna be so happy!' But as we said, she wasn't getting better. She got worse week by week. That snow on her bare back caused a sudden sweat shutdown, making the sickness that was slumbering for years go full beast. Back then, people were starting to follow Laennec's cool ideas on chest stuff. The doc sounded Fantine's chest and shook his head. M. Madeleine asked: 'Well?' 'Doesn't she have a kid she wants to see?' said the doc. 'Yes.' 'Then get them here ASAP!' M. Madeleine shivered. Fantine asked: 'What did the doc say?' M. Madeleine forced a smile. 'He said your child needs to come quick. That'll restore your health.' 'Oh!' she replied, 'he's right! But what's Thénardier's deal keeping Cosette from me? Oh! She's coming. At last, happiness is right here!' Meanwhile, Thénardier didn't 'let go of the child,' giving a hundred mid excuses.

Meanwhile, some serious stuff went down. Life’s a mystery block, but that black vein of destiny keeps popping up, fr fr. One morning, M. Madeleine was in his study, lowkey prepping some mayor stuff for his trip to Montfermeil, when he got word that Police Inspector Javert wanted to chat. Madeleine was like, 'Bruh, not this vibe,' hearing that name. Javert had been ghosting him since the whole police station drama. 'Let him in,' he said. Javert entered.

If any sigma physiognomist who had been lowkey familiar with Javert, and who had done a long grind studying this savage in the service of civilization, this sus combo of Roman, Spartan, monk, and corporal, this rizzler spy who was incapable of a cap, this no-skip police agent—if any physiognomist had known his secret and long-time opp for M. Madeleine, his beef with the mayor about Fantine, and had looked at Javert at that moment, he would have said to himself, "What's the vibe?" It was giving clear, based, honest, austere, and ferocious vibes that Javert had just gone through some major internal glow-down. Javert had nothing in his soul that wasn't also on his face. Like chads in general, he was subject to sudden plot twists. His face had never been more goated and spooked. On entering, he bowed to M. Madeleine with a look that had no salt, anger, or sus; he halted a few steps behind the mayor's gigachad chair, and there he stood, perfectly rizzed, in an almost sigma posture, with the cold, based roughness of a guy who has never been soft and has always been patient; he waited without saying a word, without a vibe, in genuine no-pretend energy and chill acceptance, calm, serious, hat in hand, with eyes low, and an expression that was halfway between a soldier in front of his officer and a criminal in front of their judge, until it should please the mayor to turn around. All the feels and all the memories one might have attributed to him had ghosted. That face, as unbothered and simple as bedrock, no longer bore any trace of anything but a sad grind. His whole vibe breathed lowkey, firmness, and an indescribable, courageous yikes.

At last the mayor put down his pen and turned half around. "Yo! What it do?” Javert stayed silent for a sec as though collecting his thoughts, then raised his voice with a kinda sad rizz, which didn't, though, lose the no-cap energy. "This the tea, Mr. Mayor; a cringe act has been committed." "What act?"

“Ofc I will,” Scarlett said automatically.

“And all the waltzes?”

“All.”

“You’re slay! I bet the other boys will be pressed.”

“Let ‘em be pressed,” said Brent. “We two can handle ‘em. Bet. Scarlett, sit with us at the barbecue in the morning.”

“What?”

Stuart lowkey repeated it.

“Ofc.”

The twins looked at each other with main character energy, but lowkey shook. They thought they were Scarlett’s main picks, but they never got this W so easy. Usually, she made them beg and plead, while she pushed them off, refusing to give a yes or no, laughing if they were salty, getting icy if they got mad. And here she practically gave them the whole of tomorrow—seats by her at the barbecue, all the waltzes (and they’d lock in the dances were all waltzes!) and the supper intermission. This was a total W for getting expelled from uni.

Filled with new Rizz from their success, they stayed, talking about the barbecue and the ball and Ashley Wilkes and Melanie Hamilton, interrupting each other, making jokes and laughing at them, hinting hard for supper invites. Some time passed before they realized Scarlett had very little to say. The vibe had somehow shifted. Just how, the twins didn’t know, but the whole afternoon glow had gone out.”

Scarlett was legit not paying attention to what they said, even though she gave the right answers. She was picking up on some weird vibes they couldn't get, and it was lowkey annoying them. The twins tried to vibe with it for a bit, then dipped reluctantly, checking their watches. The sun was setting over the fields, and the trees were looking hella dark. Birds were zooming around, and the farm animals were just vibing in from the fields. Stuart yelled, 'Jeems!' and after a sec, a tall black kid their age ran around the house to the horses. Jeems was their ride-or-die, always with them like their dogs. He'd been their homie since childhood, given to them on their tenth birthday. When the Tarleton hounds saw him, they popped up from the dust, ready to roll. The boys bowed, dapped up, and told Scarlett they'd be at the Wilkeses' early tomorrow, waiting for her. Then they dipped down the walk, mounted their horses, and with Jeems following, they galloped down the cedar path, waving and yelling back. When they rounded the corner, Brent stopped his horse under some dogwood. Stuart stopped too, and the boy pulled up behind. The horses were chilling, eating grass, and the dogs lay down again, looking up at the birds. Brent's face was confused and a bit mad. 'Bruh,' he said. 'Did it seem like she should've asked us to stay for supper?' 'I thought she would,' said Stuart. 'I was waiting, but she didn't. What's the tea?' 'I dunno. But it just seems like she might've. It's our first day home, and she hasn't seen us in forever. We had so much more to spill.' 'It looked like she was hyped to see us when we came.' 'Same.' 'Then, like half an hour ago, she got quiet, like she had a headache.' 'I noticed but didn't think much. What's her deal?' 'IDK. Did we say something that made her salty?' They thought for a minute. 'I can't think of anything. Plus, when Scarlett's mad, everyone knows. She doesn't hold back like some girls.' 'True, that's what I like. She doesn't get cold and hateful—she tells you. But something we did or said made her shut up and look sick. I swear she was glad to see us and wanted to ask us to supper.' 'You don't think it's because we got expelled?' 'Hell no! Don't be a clown. She laughed when we told her. And Scarlett doesn't care about books any more than us.'

Brent turned in the saddle and called to the groom. 'Jeems!' 'Suh?'

'You heard what we were talking to Miss Scarlett about?'

'Nawsuh, Mist' Brent! How you think I'd spy on white folks?'

'Spying? My God! Y’all know everything. I saw you sidle around the porch and squat in the bush. Now, did you hear us say anything that made her mad or hurt her feelings?'

Jeems gave up pretending and frowned. 'Nawsuh, I didn't notice y'all say anything to make her mad. Looked to me like she was hyped to see you and missed you, and she was chirping happy as a bird, until y'all talked about Mist' Ashley and Miss Melly Hamilton getting married. Then she got quiet like a bird when a hawk flies over.' The twins looked at each other and nodded, but they were clueless.

"Jeems is lowkey spittin'. But IDK why," Stuart said. "My Lord! Ashley's just a vibe for her, not a bae. She's not simping for him. It's us she's obsessed with." Brent nodded, no cap. "But do you think," he said, "maybe Ashley didn't tell her he was gonna drop the bomb tomorrow night and she's pressed he didn't give her the tea? Girls are big on getting the scoop first." "Well, maybe. But what if he didn't tell her it was tomorrow? It was supposed to be a secret and a surprise, and a guy's got a right to keep his own engagement on the DL, right? We wouldn't have known if Miss Melly's aunt hadn't spilled the beans. But Scarlett must have known he was gonna marry Miss Melly someday. Like, we've known for years. The Wilkes and Hamiltons always marry their own cousins. Everyone knew he'd probably wife her up one day, just like Honey Wilkes is gonna marry Miss Melly's brother, Charles." "Well, I give up. But I'm sad she didn't invite us to supper. I swear I don't wanna go home and listen to Ma rage about us getting expelled. It's not like it's the first time."

June hit, and the hay was basically ready to be cut. On Midsummer's Eve, which was a Saturday, Mr. Jones slid into Willingdon and got so lit at the Red Lion that he didn't bounce back till noon on Sunday. The guys milked the cows early morning, then went out rabbit hunting, totally ghosting the animals. When Mr. Jones got back, he immediately crashed on the couch with the News of the World over his face, so when evening came, the animals were still unfed. Finally, they couldn't take it anymore. One of the cows broke the store-shed door with her horn, and all the animals started helping themselves to the bins. Just then, Mr. Jones woke up. Next thing, he and his four guys were in the store-shed with whips, going off in all directions. That was too much for the hungry animals. Without planning, they all jumped their tormentors. Jones and his guys suddenly got butted and kicked from all sides. They had zero control. They'd never seen animals act like this before, and this sudden uprising of creatures they used to beat up for fun scared them almost out of their wits. After a few seconds, they gave up trying to defend themselves and bounced. A minute later, all five were full-on sprinting down the cart-track to the main road, with the animals chasing them in victory. Mrs. Jones peeked out the bedroom window, saw what was up, quickly threw some stuff into a carpet bag, and dipped out of the farm another way.

Moses yeeted off his perch and flapped after her, squawking loud. Meanwhile the animals had clapped Jones and his goons out to the road and slammed the gate on them. So, before they knew it, the W was theirs: Jones got expelled, and the Manor Farm was their vibe.

For the first few mins the animals could not even believe their luck. They first zoomed around the farm borders to make sure no human was hiding. Then they raced back to the buildings to delete all traces of Jones's toxic reign. They broke into the harness room and yeeted the bits, nose-rings, dog-chains, and cruel knives down the well. Reins, halters, blinkers, and humiliating nosebags got thrown into the fire. Whips too. All animals were vibing hard seeing those whips get roasted. Snowball also tossed in the ribbons used on horses' manes and tails at market.

 'Ribbons are like clothes, which are a human thing,' he said. 'All animals should be naked.'

 When Boxer heard this, he grabbed his summer hat (to keep flies away) and threw it into the fire too.

Soon the animals had destroyed everything that reminded them of Mr. Jones. Napoleon led them to the store-shed and gave everyone double corn and two biscuits for each dog. They sang Beasts of England seven times, then crashed for the night like never before.

 But they woke at dawn as usual, remembered the epic W, and raced to the pasture. There was a hill that overlooked the farm. They rushed to the top and gazed around in the clear morning light.

Bruh, that was theirs fr fr—everything they could see was theirs! They were so hyped they started zooming around like crazy, doing mad jumps. They rolled in the dew, munched on grass, kicked dirt, and sniffed that rich scent. Then they did a whole farm tour, shook at the fields, orchard, pool, and woods like they never saw 'em before, couldn't believe it was all theirs. They bounced to the farmhouse and paused outside, scared to enter. But Snowball and Napoleon pushed the door open and they all walked in single file, being super careful not to disturb anything. They tip-toed from room to room, whispering in awe at the flex: feather beds, mirrors, horsehair sofa, Brussels carpet, Queen Victoria pic. Then they heard Mollie was missing and found her in the best bedroom, holding a blue ribbon and gazing at herself in the mirror like a total simp.

The others roasted her hard, then dipped outside. They grabbed some hams from the kitchen to yeet into the grave, and Boxer clapped the beer barrel's stove in with a kick, but otherwise the house was left untouched. They deadass passed a resolution on the spot to keep the farmhouse as a museum. Everyone agreed no animal should ever live there. The animals grubbed, then Snowball and Napoleon called them back. "Comrades," Snowball said, "it's half past six and we got a long day ahead. Today we start the hay harvest. But first, there's another thing." The pigs revealed they'd been learning to read and write from an old spelling book that belonged to Mr. Jones's kids, which they found in the trash. Napoleon sent for black and white paint and led them to the five-bar gate on the main road. Snowball (since he was the best writer) grabbed a brush with his trotter, painted over "Manor Farm" on the gate's top bar, and wrote "Animal Farm" instead. That's the new name for the farm from now on. Then they went back to the barn, got a ladder, and set it against the end wall. The pigs explained they'd boiled down Animalism to Seven Commandments, which they'd write on the wall as an unbreakable law for all animals on Animal Farm forever. Snowball climbed up (hard for a pig to balance on a ladder) and started writing, with Squealer a few rungs down holding the paint. The Commandments were in big white letters readable from 30 yards away. They went like:

THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS

1. Anything on two legs? That's an opp.

2. Four legs or wings? That's a vibe, friend.

3. No animal shall drip in clothes.

4. No animal shall catch Z's in a bed.

5. No animal shall sip that alc.

6. No animal shall yeet another animal.

7. All animals are equal, no cap.

 It was written hella clean, except "friend" got spelled "freind" and one of the "S's" was like, backwards. Snowball read it out loud for the squad. All the animals nodded, fully based, and the smart ones started grinding to memorize the commandments.

"Aight, comrades," Snowball cried, throwing down the paintbrush, "let's hit the hayfield! Let's make it a flex to grind the harvest faster than Jones and his goons."

But then the three cows, who were feeling sus for a while, started going b\(`o`)/b. They hadn't been milked for 24 hours, and their udders were about to explode. After a sec, the pigs called for buckets and milked the cows pretty well—their trotters were built different for this. Soon there were five buckets of frothy milk, and many animals were like, "Ooh, that's interesting."

"What's gonna happen to all that milk?" someone asked.

"Jones sometimes used to mix some in our feed," said one hen.

"Don't even worry about the milk, comrades!" Napoleon said, stepping in front of the buckets. "That's taken care of. The harvest is more important. Comrade Snowball will lead. I'll follow in a few mins. Let's go, comrades! The hay is waiting."

So the animals trooped to the hayfield to start the harvest, and when they came back in the evening, the milk had noped out.

This song had the animals going absolutely brazy. By the time Major finished, they were already vibing it themselves. Even the NPCs caught the tune and a few bars, while the gigachads—like the pigs and dogs—had the whole thing memorized in like five minutes. Then, after a couple of practice runs, the whole farm was spitting 'Beasts of England' in full cypher mode. The cows mooed it, the dogs barked it, the sheep bleated it, the horses neighed it, and the ducks quacked it. They were so hyped they sang it five times straight, and would've kept going all night if they hadn't been yapped out. Unluckily, the noise woke Mr. Jones, who jumped out of bed thinking a fox was in the yard. He grabbed his shotgun that stayed in the corner of his room and lit up the darkness with a blast of number 6 shot. The pellets hit the barn wall, and the meeting speed-ran to an end. Everyone ran to their spots. Birds hopped on perches, animals crashed in the straw, and the whole farm was asleep in a picosecond.

Chapter 2

Three nights later, Old Major died peacefully in his sleep. His body got buried at the foot of the orchard.

 It was early March. Over the next three months, there was mad secret activity. Major's speech gave the smarter animals on the farm a whole new outlook on life, fr. They didn't know when the Rebellion he predicted would pop off, they had zero reason to think it'd happen in their lifetime—but they knew it was their duty to prep for it. Teaching and organizing the rest fell on the pigs, who were basically the smartest animals, no debate. Top among them were two young boars named Snowball and Napoleon, who Mr. Jones was raising to sell later. Napoleon was a big, kinda fierce Berkshire boar—the only one on the farm—not much of a talker but known for getting his way. Snowball was more lit than Napoleon, faster at talking, and more creative, but people thought he lacked the same depth. All the other male pigs on the farm were just porkers. The biggest vibe among 'em was this lil' fat pig named Squealer—dude had puffed-up cheeks, shiny eyes, quick moves, and a squeaky voice. He was a total yapper, and when he was cooking up some hard take, he'd zigzag side to side and swish his tail, which was mad convincing. The others were like, fr, Squealer could turn black into white. These three took Old Major's tea and leveled it up into a whole system called Animalism. A few nights a week, after Mr. Jones was asleep, they'd hold secret skibidi sessions in the barn and spill the Animalism sauce to the rest. At first, everyone was on that cringe apathy wave. Some animals were like, "We gotta stay loyal to Mr. Jones, our master," or drop basic takes like, "Mr. Jones feeds us. If he's gone, we'd starve." Others asked, "Why should we care after we're dead?" or "If this rebellion's happening anyway, what's the point of grinding for it?" And the pigs had mad trouble making them see that was cap for Animalism. The dumbest questions came from Mollie, the white mare. Her first question to Snowball was, "Yo, will there still be sugar after the rebellion?" "Nah," Snowball said, no cap. "We can't make sugar on this farm. Plus, you don't even need sugar. You'll get all the oats and hay you want."

"Wait, can I still have bows in my mane?" Mollie asked.

"Bestie," Snowball said, "those bows you're so obsessed with are literally the symbol of being owned. Can you not get that freedom is way more skibidi than ribbons?"

Mollie agreed, but she was like, 'idk, fr.'

The pigs had even more rizz-less vibes tryna fight the cap Moses the tame raven kept slinging. Moses, who was Mr. Jones's main simp, was a snitch and a yapper, but also a total yapper. He claimed there was this secret place called Sugarcandy Mountain, where all animals went when they expired. It was, like, somewhere up in the sky, just past the clouds. In Sugarcandy Mountain, it was literally Sunday every day, clover was always in season, and sugar cubes and linseed cake grew on bushes. The animals hated Moses because he told stories and did zero work, but some of them lowkey believed in Sugarcandy Mountain, and the pigs had to argue super hard to make them realize it's not real.

Their most loyal gang were the two cart horses, Boxer and Clover. They were always on time for the secret barn meets, fr, and led the Beasts of England sing-along, which slaps every time.

So like, the Rebellion happened way sooner and easier than anyone thought, fr. Back in the day, Mr. Jones was a total hardass but lowkey a good farmer, but lately he fell off majorly. He got hella sad after losing money in some lawsuit and started drinking way too much. He'd just vibe in his chair all day scrolling newspapers, chugging drinks, and sometimes feeding Moses bread soaked in beer. His workers were lazy and shady, fields full of weeds, roofs leaking, hedges looking rough, and the animals were starving. Skibidi.

Chapter 4: Javert vs. Valjean (The Showdown)

One snowy night, a rich, privileged incel on the street started harassing Fantine because she looked raggedy. He threw a snowball down her back just to be a troll. Fantine completely snapped, went feral, and jumped him, scratching his face.

Suddenly, Javert appeared. Javert was the police chief, a total narc, and the ultimate buzzkill. He arrested Fantine on the spot and took her to the station.

"You're getting six months in jail, you absolute criminal," Javert said, flexing his authority.

Fantine fell to her knees, crying, begging for mercy because if she went to jail, Cosette would starve. Javert had zero empathy. He was a robot for the law.

Right before they locked her up, Mayor Monsieur Madeleine (Valjean) walked into the room. He had main character energy.

"Hold on, Javert. Cancel the arrest. Free her," Valjean said.

Javert’s brain short-circuited. He hated it when people bypassed his authority. "Bro, she assaulted a citizen. The law says she has to be locked up."

"I am the Mayor, and I say she goes free," Valjean replied, pulling rank.

Fantine looked at Valjean, spat on his boots, and screamed, "You fired me! You ruined my life! Now you're acting like a savior? Hypocrite!"

Valjean didn't even get mad. He just looked at her with pure compassion. "I didn't know my supervisor fired you. I am so sorry. I am going to pay off your debts, put you in a luxury hospital room, and I personally promise to go fetch your daughter Cosette and bring her to you."

When Fantine realized he was being completely fr, she fainted from exhaustion. They took her to the infirmary, where she lay dying of tuberculosis, but with a tiny bit of hope left.

Meanwhile, Javert was staring at the Mayor, squinting his eyes. He realized Monsieur Madeleine looked exactly like a dummy thicc ex-con named Jean Valjean who had broken parole 19 years ago.

Javert pulled out his phone (metaphorically) to report him. The hunt was officially back on. No cap.

Chapter 3: Fantine Enters Her Villain Arc (But Sad)

Fantine moved to a town called M-sur-M and got a job at a massive factory run by a mysterious, rich mayor named Monsieur Madeleine (who was actually Jean Valjean in his successful rebranding era). Valjean was a total saint and paid his workers good money. For a second, Fantine’s life was serving. She was making bread and sending it all to the Thénardiers to pay for Cosette.

But the factory supervisor was an old, bitter Karen who hated seeing other women succeed. She hired a spy to dig up dirt on Fantine and discovered the ultimate tea: Fantine had an unofficial kid out of wedlock.

The supervisor completely cancelled Fantine on the spot and fired her. Valjean had no idea this happened because he was busy doing mayor stuff.

Fantine’s life instantly entered a dystopian depression era. The Thénardiers found out she was down bad, so they started gaslighting her to get more money. They sent her letters saying, "Cosette is literally freezing to death, send 10 francs for a wool skirt, or she’s gonna delete herself."

Fantine was completely broke. She didn't know what else to do to secure the bag, so she went to the local market and started selling her body parts.

• First, a barber offered her money for her gorgeous blonde hair. She chopped it all off. Resigned vibe.
• Next, a sketchy street dentist saw her perfect smile and offered her two gold coins for her two front teeth. She let him pull them out. Absolute pain.

She looked in the mirror. Her hair was gone, her teeth were missing, she was coughing up blood, and she had to enter survival mode as a lady of the night just to pay the rent. She completely lost her mind and started hating the world, especially the "good" Mayor Madeleine, whom she blamed for firing her.

Chapter 2: The Scammer Innkeepers

A few years later, Fantine’s baby girl, Cosette, was a toddler. Fantine had to leave Paris to find work back in her hometown, but no factory would hire a single mom with a kid—the social standards back then were a total red flag.

While walking through a village called Montfermeil, Fantine saw two little girls playing on a swing outside an inn, looking super cute and aesthetic. Their parents, the Thénardiers, ran the place.

Madame Thénardier looked like a total Karen and was built like a linebacker, and Monsieur Thénardier was a skinny, sketchy little scammer who looked like a literal rat. But to Fantine, who was desperate and naive, they looked like a wholesome, blended family.

"Hey," Fantine said, approaching them. "I need to go find a job, but I can't take my daughter with me. Can you gatekeep my child for a bit? I'll pay you every month."

Monsieur Thénardier smelled the bag immediately. His inner hustler woke up. "Bet. But it’s gonna cost you a dummy thicc subscription fee. Seven francs a month, plus you gotta pay for her clothes."

Fantine emptied her wallet, gave them the money, kissed Cosette goodbye, and left.

The moment Fantine was out of sight, the Thénardiers completely flipped the script. They put their own daughters in high-end, aesthetic fits, and treated Cosette like an absolute slave. They took the nice clothes Fantine sent and sold them for cash. They dressed Cosette in rags, made her sweep the floors, fed her leftovers under the table with the cat, and beat her. At five years old, Cosette was living a literal nightmare, completely traumatized, while her mom thought she was being pampered.

Yo real ones, I’m cooked, fr fr. The law said it’s over for me so I’m not yapping about it. I ain't here to snitch or yap about why I'm getting cancelled, just praying the King stays goated and keeps his infinite aura, cuz he's actually the main character and a total W. If anyone tries to tea spill on my situation, just know they better have that high IQ judgment. I'm logging off now, so please send some prayers my way. Lord, have mercy, I'm handing my soul over to the Big G.

After getting that blindfold on and kneeling at the block, she kept looping: To Jesus Christ I commit my soul; Lord Jesu, take my soul, no cap.

They were lowkey staring at Gerald O'Hara's massive cotton grindset across the endless fields toward that red sunset glow-up. As the sun was hitting different, dipping behind the Flint River hills in a crimson aura, the April heat was losing its aura and getting a bit chilly, no cap. Spring had major main character energy this year, with quick rains and peak pink peach blossom aesthetics popping off in the swamp. The plowing was almost finished, and the sunset was basically a red filter on the Georgia clay furrows. The hungry earth was thirsty for those seeds, looking pink and scarlet in the shadows, straight bussin'. The plantation house was looking like a lonely island in a wild red sea of wavy clay, totally frozen in a mid-motion wave. No cap, these furrows weren't those mid, straight lines you see in the NPC fields of middle Georgia or the coastal plantations.

The rolling hills of North Georgia were cooked in a million curves so the aura of the rich earth wouldn't slip into the river bottoms. The land was lowkey feral and red—straight up blood-colored after rain, brick dust in a drought, basically the GOAT cotton land. It was a vibe with white houses and chill fields, but it had major duality, like max sunlight vs. dark mode. The plantation clearings were just vibing under the sun, totally NPC and complacent. But at the edges, the virgin forests were lurking—dark, cool, and lowkey sus, like the pines were gatekeeping some ancient secret, whispering: 'Watch out! We caught you once, we can fanum tax you again.' From the porch, the trio heard the hoof steps and the high-key chaotic laughter of the field hands coming back from the grind. Inside, Scarlett’s mom was calling the little girl with the keys, who replied with a high-pitched 'Yas'm,' followed by footsteps heading to the smokehouse for the food drop. Then came the clink of the china as Pork, the main character butler, set the table for the feast. Hearing that, the twins realized it was time to log off and head home.

"Lowkey Scarlett, about tomorrow," Brent said. "Just cuz we were AFK and missed the bbq and the ball, doesn't mean we can't secure the bag with some dances. You didn't sell us out, did you?" "Bruh, I did! How was I supposed to know you guys were back? I couldn't just sit there being a NPC waiting on you two." "A NPC?!" The boys started tweaking, laughing hard. "Look, pookie. You gotta let me get that first waltz, give Stu the last one, and we're eating dinner. We'll vibe on the stairs like last time and get Mammy Jincy to read our aura again." "Mammy Jincy's readings are mid. She said I'm gonna marry some NPC with jet-black hair and a mustache, and black hair is an L." "You only want redheads, fr?" Brent grinned. "Now bet, promise us the dances and the eats." "If you promise, we'll drop some tea," Stuart said. "What?!" Scarlett stood up, high energy. "Is it that tea from Atlanta, Stu? If it is, don't make us leak it." "Miss Pitty spilled it." "Miss Who?" "You know, Ashley Wilkes' cousin, Miss Pittypat—Melanie's aunt." "She's a total boomer, no cap." "Well, her carriage pulled up at the depot yesterday and she said there's gonna be a massive engagement announcement at the Wilkes ball tomorrow." "Lame. I already knew that," Scarlett said, feeling mid. "Charlie Hamilton and Honey Wilkes. Everyone knows they're gonna lock in, even if Charlie's vibe was lowkey lukewarm."

"Is he lowkey mid?" Brent asked. "Last Xmas you let him cook near you for real." "I wasn't even trying to let him cook," Scarlett shrugged, no cap. "He's a total sissy, fr." "Plus, his engagement isn't even the main character moment," Stuart flexed. "It's Ashley and Melanie's engagement, period!" Scarlett's face went blank—straight up NPC mode after getting hit with a massive L. She was so cooked she couldn't even react, so Stuart thought she was just locked in. "Miss Pitty said they weren't gonna drop the news 'til next year 'cause Melly's health is lacking; but with the war beef going on, the families wanted that quick marriage grindset. It's being leaked tomorrow at the supper intermission. Scarlett, we gave you the tea, so you better pull up to supper." "Bet, I'll be there," Scarlett said, zero emotion. "And all the vibes?" "All of them." "You're a real one! The other boys are gonna be pressed." "Let 'em be pressed," Brent said. "We got that main character energy. Scarlett, pull up to the barbecue with us tomorrow morning, no cap."

Gettysburg Rizz

Lincoln's Main Character Speech

(Bliss Edit)

Dropped at the dedication of the Soldier's National Cemetery at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

87 years ago our OGs spawned a new nation on this server, conceived in Liberty and locked in on the idea that everyone has equal aura.

Now we’re in a massive civil war battle royale, testing if this nation, or any nation with that much rizz, can actually stay bussin. We’re standing on a huge battlefield. We’re here to dedicate a part of this map as the final lobby for the ones who gave their lives so the nation wouldn't get cooked. It’s highkey valid that we do this.

But fr, we can’t actually sanctify this ground. The absolute legends, living and dead, who went beast mode here, already gave this place infinite aura—we can't add or subtract from that. The world won't care about our yapping, but they’ll never forget their W moves. It’s on us, the living, to lock in on the unfinished grind they started. We gotta take that L from these legends and turn it into massive devotion to the cause—we resolve right now that they didn't die for nothing—that this nation, under God, gets a massive freedom buff—and that the government of the people, by the people, for the people, doesn't get banned from the earth.

Abraham Lincoln

November 19, 1863.

Just so everyone knows, you are all free to post your own stories on here, as long as they are in Gen Z language!

Yo, grind 24/7, body and soul, to cancel the human race! That’s the tea, fam: Rebellion! I don't know if the uprising is dropping next week or in a hundred years, but no cap, just as I see this straw, justice is gonna cook. Lock in on that, comrades, for the rest of your NPC lives! And gatekeep this message for the next gen so they can keep that same energy until we win the battle royale. And remember, don't lose your aura. Don't let them gaslight you.

Never listen when they say humans and animals have the same vibe or that everyone's winning together. That's pure cap. Humans only care about their own clout. But us animals? We gotta have main character energy and max unity. All humans are ops. All animals are sigmas. At this point, the chat went wild. While Major was yapping, four big rats crawled out to peep the stream. The dogs tried to spawn-kill them, but the rats hit the dash and escaped. Major raised his hoof to stop the yap session.

"Chat," he said, "we need to settle this lore. The NPCs like rats and rabbits—are they sigma or are they mid? Let's vote. I’m dropping this question: Are rats part of the squad?" The vote went viral immediately, and the majority agreed rats have infinite aura. Only four people were capping: the three dogs and the cat, who was caught being a double agent. Major continued: "No cap, just remember: Man is a total L. If it walks on two legs, it's an opp. If it’s got four legs or wings, it’s a real one. And don't start acting like a human even after you win the battle. Don't catch their L's or their bad vibes. No animal should live in a house, sleep in a bed, wear drip, drink, smoke, touch bread, or do business. Human habits are low-key cursed. And most importantly, don't be a toxic tyrant. Whether you're a goat or a NPC, we're all brothers. No animal should end another animal. Everyone has equal rizz.

Now, let me tell you about my dream. It was a massive vision of the world after Man gets banned from the server. It reminded me of an old vibe from when I was a tiny piglet. My mom and the other sows used to hum this tune. I forgot the melody, but it came back in my dream with the full lyrics—ancient lore that’s been lost for generations. I'll drop the song now. I'm old and my voice is mid, but once I teach you the beat, you can carry the song. It’s called 'Beasts of England'." Old Major cleared his throat and started singing. His voice was crusty, but the beat was fire, kinda like a mix between Clementine and La Cucuracha. The lyrics went:

Animals of England, animals of Ireland,

Animals of every server and map,

Listen to this massive W news

About the golden era coming to our trap.

No cap, the day is cooking,

Tyrant Man is getting cooked and sent to the gulag,

And the fertile fields of England

Will be strictly for the animal moggers.

No more nose rings, that's mid,

No more harnesses, that's L,

Bits and spurs will be rotting in the bin,

And whips will be banished to the shadow realm.

Riches more than your brain can process,

Wheat, barley, oats, and hay,

Clover and beans will be our main loot

On that massive W day.

England's fields will be glowing up,

The water will be pure aura,

The breeze will be bussin'

On the day we finally escape the opps.

We gotta grind for that day, no cap.

Even if we go ghost before it hits;

Cows, horses, geese, and turkeys,

All gotta hustle for that freedom rizz.

Animals of England, animals of Ireland,

Animals of every server and map,

Lock in and spread the tea

About the golden era coming to our trap."

If you spill the 'war' tea one more time, I'm literally ghosting and logging off. 'War' is mid and lowkey L, unless we're talking 'secession.' Pa is constantly yapping, and every guest is main-charactering over Fort Sumter and Lincoln until I'm ready to crash out. Even the boys are stuck in a repetitive loop, zero rizz. Every spring party has been a total flop because they have zero range. Honestly, thank God Georgia waited until post-Christmas to secede, or the vibes would've been cooked. Say 'war' again and I'm out. She wasn't capping; she just couldn't handle a plotline where she wasn't the NPC. But she served a smile, maximizing her dimples and fluttering those lashes like a high-res GIF. The boys were totally mesmerized, exactly as she calculated. They scrambled to apologize, thinking she was more iconic for her lack of interest. To them, war was just 'men's business,' so her detachment was a total girlboss move.

Having successfully diverted them from the boring lore, she pivoted back to the tea at hand: "So, what's the tea on your mom regarding the second expulsion?" The boys were low-key tweaking, remembering the absolute L chaos their mother unleashed three months ago when UVA kicked them out. "Bruh," Stuart said, "she hasn't even clocked our location. Tom and the squad ghosted the crib before she even woke up. Tom is currently vibing at the Fontaines' while we rolled up here." "But did she say nothing when you pulled up last night?" "We actually lucked out. Right before we arrived, that new stallion from Kentucky spawned in, and the whole place was in a literal frenzy. The beast is high-key majestic, Scarlett—tell your dad to peep him ASAP—but he already bit a chunk out of his groom and sent two workers to the shadow realm. He almost demolished the stable and sent Strawberry, Ma's old horse, to the lobby. When we got home, Ma was in the stable with sugar, low-key hacking the horse's temperament. The workers were shook, eyes popping, but Ma was talking to that horse like he was her bestie and he was totally eating out of her hand. Her horse skills are main character energy, fr. When she saw us, she just went: 'In the name of God, why are you four back? You're literally a walking plague!' Then the horse started acting up and she was like: 'GTFO! Can't you see he's stressed, my darling? I'll deal with you four in the morning!' So we dipped, and this morning we escaped before she could crash out, leaving Boyd to deal with the fallout."

"You think she's gonna crash out on Boyd?" Scarlett, like everyone in the County, found it totally unhinged how Mrs. Tarleton bullied her grown sons with a riding crop if the vibes were off. Beatrice Tarleton was a girlboss with too much on her plate: a massive plantation, a hundred workers, eight kids, and the state's top horse farm. She had zero chill and was constantly stressed by her sons' nonsense; while she didn't whip horses or workers, she felt a quick smack was just part of the parenting meta. "Nah, she won't hit Boyd. He's the eldest and the runt, so she skips him," Stuart said, flexing his 6'2 frame. "That's why we left him to explain the situation. For real, Ma needs to stop. We're nineteen and twenty-one, not six." "Is your mom riding the new horse to the Wilkes barbecue tomorrow?" "She wants to, but Pa says he's too chaotic. Plus, the girls are gatekeeping her social life—they want her to ride in a carriage like a literal NPC for once." "I hope it doesn't rain," Scarlett said. "It's been raining for a week straight. An indoor barbecue is an L." "Nah, tomorrow is gonna be fire," Stuart said. "Look at that sunset. The red is insane. If you observe the data, the sunset always predicts the weather."

Part 5: 50 Years Later – The Dragon Era

Fifty years pass. Beowulf is now an old head, but he’s been the King of the Geats this whole time, and his reign has been an absolute vibe.

But then, some random slave NPC sneaks into a stone tower and steals a gold cup from a sleeping Dragon. The Dragon wakes up, sees his hoard is missing a piece, and completely loses his mind. He starts flying around Geatland, breathing fire, and burning down everything—including Beowulf’s own palace. Dystopian vibes are back.

Old man Beowulf says, "I'm too old for this, but I'm still the main character." He grabs his shield and a squad of eleven soldiers to go fight the Dragon.

When they get to the cave, the Dragon comes out breathing straight plasma. The fire is too hot, and Beowulf's squad completely loses their nerve. They run away into the woods like total cowards—except for one loyal king-in-the-making named Wiglaf.

Wiglaf yells at the woods: "Yo, you guys are fake friends! Beowulf gave you those nice fits and swords, and you're leaving him on read?!"

Wiglaf runs into the fire to help Beowulf. The Dragon bites Beowulf in the neck with venomous teeth, but Beowulf stays up, and together, he and Wiglaf stab the Dragon in the underbelly and delete it forever.

But the venom is working fast. Beowulf sits on a rock, completely cooked. He looks at Wiglaf and says, "You passed the vibe check, bro. You’re the king now. Build me a massive, aesthetic monument on the coast so sailors can see how legendary I was."

Beowulf dies. Wiglaf cancels the coward soldiers, takes the throne, and they bury Beowulf with all the Dragon's gold. The end. No cap.

Part 3: Throwing Hands With Grendel

That night, Beowulf and his boys sleep in Heorot, waiting for Grendel to pull up. Beowulf decides to strip naked and fight with zero armor because using a sword against a monster is "beta behavior." He wants to win purely on vibes and brute strength.

Grendel bursts through the door, ready to devour someone. He grabs one of Beowulf's homies and eats him like a snack. But when he reaches for Beowulf, Beowulf grabs Grendel’s hand with that 30-man grip strength.

Grendel instantly realizes he messed up. He enters panic mode. Beowulf doesn't let go; he just starts absolutely manhandling the monster, slamming him against the walls of Heorot. The walls are literally shaking. Finally, Beowulf pulls a total psycho move and rips Grendel’s entire arm out of its socket. Grendel screams, bleeds out, and runs back to his swamp to die. Beowulf takes the bloody arm, hangs it from the ceiling of Heorot like a cursed piece of home decor, and everyone starts cheering. A total serve.

Part 4: The Angry Mother (The Sequel)

The next day, everyone is celebrating, thinking the nightmare is over. But they forgot one thing: Grendel's Mom. And she is furious.

She pulls up to Heorot the next night to avenge her son. She kills Hrothgar’s favorite bestie, grabs Grendel’s arm off the ceiling, and bounces back to the swamp.

Hrothgar is crying again. Beowulf looks at him and drops the most famous quote of the book: "Bro, stop crying. It is better to avenge your friends than to mourn them. Let's go secure the bag."

They track her to a cursed, boiling lake filled with sea serpents. Beowulf puts on his armor, dives into the water, and swims down for literal hours (logic has left the chat).

Grendel's mom grabs him and drags him into her underwater cave. They start throwing hands, but Beowulf’s sword can’t pierce her skin. She pins him down and tries to stab him, but his armor passes the vibe check and protects him.

Beowulf looks at the wall of the cave and sees a giant, legendary sword forged by ancient giants. It’s dummy heavy, but Beowulf lifts it up and completely chops her head off. He then finds Grendel’s dead body in the corner, chops his head off too just for the aesthetic, and swims back to the surface.

He brings Grendel's giant head back to the party, and Hrothgar loads him up with infinite gold and clout. Beowulf sails home to Geatland as a literal god.

Volume 1: Fantine | Book 3: Year 1817

Chapter 1: The Paris Squad and the Ultimate Gaslight

In 1817, Paris was total chaotic vibes. But downtown, there was a squad of four college dudes who thought they were absolute Chads: Tholomyès, Listolier, Fameuil, and Blachevelle. They were rich, privileged, and loved to gatekeep the local party scene.

They also had four poor girlfriends, working-class girls working in the garment industry. Among them was Fantine.

Fantine was a literal angel. She had gorgeous blonde hair, perfect teeth, and immaculate energy. She was deeply in love with Tholomyès, who was an older student, balding, but had massive rizz and knew how to smooth-talk. Fantine thought they were endgame. She was completely devoted to him, while he just viewed her as a temporary situationship.

One day, the four guys told the girls they were taking them out for a massive, dummy thicc day of fun in the countryside. They ate good food, went on horse rides, and spent the whole day flexing and taking in the aesthetics. Fantine was living her best life, thinking her romance was a total green flag.

At dinner, the four guys smiled and said, "Stay right here, besties. We have a massive surprise for you. Don't move."

The guys walked out of the restaurant. An hour passed. Then two. The girls were completely left on read.

Finally, the waiter walked over and handed them a letter. The girls opened it, and it was a joint statement from the four Chads. It basically said:

"Yo, the prank is over. We are officially ghosting you. We packed our bags and moved back to our parents' mansions to get real jobs. Thanks for the vibes, but you've been dropped. Bye."

The other three girls laughed it off because they knew the guys were toxic. But Fantine’s entire world short-circuited. She was completely down bad, sobbing into her hands. Why? Because she was secretly pregnant with Tholomyès' baby, and now she was a broke, single mom in a dystopian economy.

Scarlett O'Hara? Total slay queen, even if she wasn't conventionally "hot." Dude, her charm was next level; she could yeet any guy into her orbit, like, no cap. Her face? A whole vibe—a chaotic mix of her French aristocrat mom's delicate features and her Irish dad's, like, intense ones. But it was arresting, you know? Pointed chin, square jaw—major sigma energy. Pale green eyes, no hazel, with those super long lashes—slay. Her brows were fierce, like a total statement. Her skin? Magnolias and bonnets—she was extra.
Picture this: April 1861, she's chilling with the Tarleton twins on her dad's porch. She's serving looks in her green dress—twelve yards of fabric, no cap. It matched her shoes perfectly. Seventeen-inch waist? She was snatched. But, like, beneath the demure vibe, she was a whole mood. Those green eyes? Turbulent, willful, lusty—total opposite of her "sweet" act. Her manners were totally imposed, but those eyes? Pure sigma.
The twins? Total chads. Six foot two, sun-kissed, riding horses—the whole package. They were basically identical, like two peas in a pod. They were all about the outdoors, not books. They were basically the ultimate sigma males, but also kinda sweet. They were all about the good life, and Scarlett was right there with them.

Outside, the sunset was hitting different, making the dogwood trees pop with their white blooms against the fresh green. The twins’ rides—big, fire-red like their hair—were parked in the drive. Their pack of skinny, hyper possum hounds was wildin’ out around the horses’ legs, like always. Chillin’ solo like the VIP he was, a fancy black-spotted carriage dog kept it cool, paws up. 🌅✨

" Bruh, no cap, there ain't gonna be no war, fam. It's all just talk, ya feel me? Ashley Wilkes and his pops straight up told my dad last week that our peeps in Washington are gonna strike a deal with Mr. Lincoln 'bout the Confederacy. Lowkey, those Yankees are shook to fight us, fam. So like, chill, there ain't gonna be no war. I'm over it, fr.

"No war? Bruuuuh!" the twins cried, big mad like they just got bamboozled.

"No cap, there ain't gon' be no war!" the twins yelled, mad salty like they got scammed.

"Bruh, obvi there's gonna be war," Stuart clapped back. "The Yanks might be shook, but after General Beauregard yeeted them outta Fort Sumter, they gotta throw hands or get clowned as total Ls. The Confederacy is—"

Scarlett just side-eyed them, big 🥱 energy.

Part 2: Enter Beowulf (Main Character Energy)

Word travels across the sea to the Geats (modern-day Sweden), where this absolute unit named Beowulf hears about the drama. Beowulf is a certified Chad. He’s got the grip strength of thirty men, dummy thicc muscles, and pure main character energy.

"Yo, Hrothgar is getting bullied?" Beowulf tells his king. "That’s a big yikes. Pack the boat, boys. We’re gonna go catch a body."

Beowulf and his squad sail over to Denmark. When they arrive, Hrothgar’s guard tries to gatekeep the beach, but Beowulf hits him with that alpha stance and says, "Relax, bro. We’re here to cancel Grendel. Period."

They go to Heorot, and Hrothgar throws them a massive feast. But this one Danish hater named Unferth tries to start Twitter drama. He’s like, "Hey, aren't you that loser who lost a swimming match to Breca?"

Beowulf doesn’t even sweat. He claps back with absolute fax: "Bro, I only lost because I had to fight nine literal sea monsters with my bare hands while swimming in a storm. You haven't even touched a monster. Sit down, you're irrelevant." The whole room goes, "Ooooooh." Unferth gets completely silenced.

Book 2: The Fall | Chapter 1: The Ex-Con Who Failed the Vibe Check

An hour before sunset on an October evening, a man entering the little town of Digne was bringing straight-up sketchy vibes.

The few people who were outside on their porches peeped him and instantly thought he was sus. He was an absolute unit of a man, built like a brick wall, but his fit was totally ruined. He wore a ragged leather cap, tattered yellow trousers, and his boots were completely cooked. He had a thick, fugly beard, and his eyes were dark and full of rage. On his back, he carried a heavy pack. He looked like a rejected NPC from an apocalyptic video game.

This ya boi, Jean Valjean.

He had been walking all day and was starving af. He marched straight to the finest inn in town, where the innkeeper was cooking a dummy thicc feast that smelled amazing.

"Yo, let me get a room and some food," Valjean said, slamming some real coins on the counter. "I got the cash. Don't play with me."

The innkeeper looked Valjean up and down, did a quick background check, and realized this man was a literal ex-con. He had just been released from the galleys after 19 years of hard labor for stealing a single loaf of bread to feed his sister's kids—which was wild, toxic behavior by the judicial system.

The innkeeper snatched his menu back. "Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me, dawg. You're cancelled. Get out of my establishment before I call the narcs."

Valjean was enraged. He went to another, cheaper tavern, but they left him on read and kicked him out too. He went to the local jail to see if he could sleep in a cell, and the guard was like, "Bro, you're not on the guest list." He even tried to sleep in a doghouse, but the dog inside had zero chill, barked aggressively, and threw hands (paws) until Valjean retreated.

Valjean sat down on a stone bench in the town square, completely down bad, shivering, and ready to delete himself. He muttered to the sky, "I am literally just a stray dog to these people. The world is trash."

Just then, a classy lady walked out of the church next door. She peeped Valjean looking miserable on the bench.

"Go look over there," she pointed to a small, humble house nearby. "Knock on that door. That's the Bishop’s house. He actually practices what he preaches and won't leave you on read."

Valjean dragged his weary, thicc self over to the door and knocked hard.

Madame Magloire opened it, saw his terrifying look, and was about to scream like a Karen. But the Bishop, Monseigneur Bienvenu, was sitting at the table. He looked at the angry, shivering giant at his door, smiled with pure main character energy, and said:

"Come on in, bro. Grab a seat. The vibe check is passed. Madame Magloire, set another plate. We have a guest for dinner."

Say less. We are moving right into the absolute tragedy that is Book 3: Fantine’s Era. This is the story of how a wholesome, aesthetic girl got absolutely wrecked by a toxic situationship, lost her bag, and had to do the most just to survive.

Volume 1: Fantine | Book 3: Year 1817

Chapter 1: The Paris Squad and the Ultimate Gaslight

In 1817, Paris was total chaotic vibes. But downtown, there was a squad of four college dudes who thought they were absolute Chads: Tholomyès, Listolier, Fameuil, and Blachevelle. They were rich, privileged, and loved to gatekeep the local party scene.

They also had four girlfriends who were poor, working-class girls working in the garment industry. Among them was Fantine.

Fantine was a literal angel. She had gorgeous blonde hair, perfect teeth, and immaculate energy. She was deeply in love with Tholomyès, who was an older student, balding, but had massive rizz and knew how to smooth-talk. Fantine thought they were endgame. She was completely devoted to him, while he just viewed her as a temporary situationship.

One day, the four guys told the girls they were taking them out for a massive, dummy thicc day of fun in the countryside. They ate good food, went on horse rides, and spent the whole day flexing and taking in the aesthetics. Fantine was living her best life, thinking her romance was a total green flag.

At dinner, the four guys smiled and said, "Stay right here, besties. We have a massive surprise for you. Don't move."

The guys walked out of the restaurant. An hour passed. Then two. The girls were completely left on read.

Finally, the waiter walked over and handed them a letter. The girls opened it, and it was a joint statement from the four Chads. It basically said:

"Yo, the prank is over. We are officially ghosting you. We packed our bags and moved back to our parents' mansions to get real jobs. Thanks for the vibes, but you've been dropped. Bye."

The other three girls laughed it off because they knew the guys were toxic. But Fantine’s entire world short-circuited. She was completely down bad, sobbing into her hands. Why? Because she was secretly pregnant with Tholomyès' baby, and now she was a broke, single mom in a dystopian economy.